


Why Would I Wait?

by Maxiell



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Drunkenness, Hand Jobs, Homophobic Language, M/M, Making Out, One Shot, Possible manga spoilers re:names, Swearing, Underage Drinking, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxiell/pseuds/Maxiell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco’s the average teenage boy, looking to have fun with friends and strangers alike whenever he can amidst the stresses of high school life. It’s usually very simple; he’ll catch the eye of an attractive boy, and they’ll sneak off together and have their hassle-free fun. No relationship, and no regrets. Usually.<br/>But defensive Jean apparently has a history causing himself trouble, and after a quick make-out that really wasn’t worth it, Marco finds himself involved in a very odd game of cat and mouse, and entirely unsure of what the hell either of them are thinking.</p>
<p>Alternatively, another pointless high school au that has the thinnest plot you’re ever likely to come across, and in which Jean is a ridiculous cross between ‘No Homo’ and ‘Notice Me Senpai’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Would I Wait?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I've ever posted on AO3, so bare with me as I try to get the hang of it!
> 
> If I'm honest, I'm not really sure what this is. I stress-relief wrote it after watching another 'coming of age' film, in which the male protag viciously denies his attraction to guys after spending the afternoon making-out with one, and then that guy is left hurt and pinning, and patiently waits until the protag comes around, and welcomes him back lovingly regardless of the shit he pulled. It kinda pissed me off at the time, so I started writing this in contrast, but somehow it ran away from me and backfired, becoming it's own, needlessly giant ball of clichés.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it regardless!

His hand slipped under his t-shirt, the skin of his sides softer than anything Marco could imagine, and he moaned his appreciation into the soft gasp Jean let out at the touch. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Jean was blushing even more, could feel the heat of his embarrassment – nerves? Excitement? – pressed against his own cheeks. But he didn’t push Marco away, and continued to kiss him deeply, even moving his hands from around Marco’s neck to grasp at his hair. So Marco slowly slid his hand around until he could stroke the equally soft skin of the small of Jean’s back.

Jean gasped and groaned, lips faltering as he adjusted to Marco’s touch. He kept his hand steady so Jean knew he wasn’t going to try going further, and only allowed his fingertips to move gently across his skin. It didn’t stop a small frown from forming though, and it didn’t sooth him back into the rhythm of their kissing, but Marco continued nonetheless.

It was harder to kiss when Jean’s reactions were slower and his mouth a little tenser, but his lips were so soft, and he tasted such a sweet combination of alcohol and _new_ that Marco didn’t much care. He wasn’t uncomfortable; Marco was sure by the stiffness in his waist that Jean was putting a lot of effort into keeping his hips still, and his hands were tugging Marco a little closer, not pulling him away. But he was over-thinking again, and there wasn’t a lot else Marco could do to get him back into the moment.

After a few sloppy kisses, Marco flicked the tip of his tongue along the roof of Jean’s mouth and allowed his fingers to skim just underneath the waist of his jeans at the same time, and all the tension in Jean’s body seemed to snap at once as his hips surged forward and his arms wound tight around Marco’s neck to cradle his head and pull him closer. They both moaned loudly at the contact, Marco instinctively holding him tighter as they kissed harder and panted between the moulding of lips.

A moment later, and Jean was pulling back, tugging a little harshly on Marco’s hair to make him move too and look at him. It took a lot of effort for Marco to open his eyes, and even when his body finally complied with the demand, all he could manage was a half-lidded stare. He could see the bright blush on Jean’s cheeks though, even with his heavy eyelids and the very limited light coming through the cracks of the door. He looked a special kind of gorgeous to Marco, with his dishevelled hair, and the soft but sure scowl set on his face that somehow seemed fitting, like it was his natural expression. He could see his body move with a slight breathlessness, and his lips were red and shiny from their kissing.

God, he wanted to kiss him again. Why did they stop again?

“I’m not gay.” Jean said, meeting his eyes and holding his body defiantly still.

“Okay.” Marco leant forward to resume their kissing, but a sharp pull to his hair stopped him in his tracks, and made him twitch in what was either shock or a strange kind of pleasure. He wasn’t sure, and wasn’t inclined to figure it out.

“I mean it.” Jean continued, staring at him with a sure fire. “I don’t like guys.”

“I know.”Marco whispered back, schooling his expression into his own scowl, and hoping it came across sincere and sure enough that Jean would believe him and drop the talking all together.

This time when he moved forward, Jean met him halfway, pulling Marco towards him. They continued kissing like they’d never stopped, but this time their bodies remained pressed together, and Marco couldn’t help but moan at the way they fit.

He didn’t have the heart - or energy – to tell poor, serious Jean that that wasn’t the first time a boy had said those exact words after having their tongue down his throat. That this wasn’t the first time a guy had pulled him into a closet, deserted room, round the back of a building where no one would see, and furiously made out with him.

He also didn’t have the heart to tell him he didn’t care.

They weren’t friends. In fact, Marco couldn’t recall ever actually speaking with him. They had a couple of classes together – Chemistry and English, he thinks – and he happened to have P.E. when Marco had Calculus, so he’s checked him out along with some of the other boys in the height of his boredom before. But he didn’t know the kid, didn’t care what he thought or how he defined himself. He didn’t care whether he’d spend the rest of his life in this damn closet.

What he cared about was that Jean was hot, and had grabbed him with an intoxicating mixture of cocky and scared shitless. That he kissed him with such hungry lips, and brushed his shaking fingertips over Marco’s skin in a way that sent shivers down his spine. That his body was firm and warm, and being pressed against it made Marco melt as much as it made him pulse with excitement.

There was nothing else to it, and nothing else Marco wanted from it.

The sudden, viscous rattle of the handle made them both jump, and Jean sprung away from his hold instantly, staring at the door like it was going to attack him.

“Aw man!” They heard a muffled voice whine from the other side of the door as it continued to move the handle in vain. “You guys suck! Hogging all the privacy. The rest of us wanna get some action too y’know?” There was a half-hearted kick to the bottom of the door as some drunken giggles joined the voice. Marco couldn’t hear the words, but he recognised the placating and persuasive tone the girl used to coerce the guy to find somewhere else. Their footsteps moved away instantly.

Marco snorted and turned back to Jean, running a hand through his hair and ready to make comment on the interruption. But when he saw the expression on his face and how rigid his body was, all humour left him with a sigh. Looked like the fun was over.

Jean had a fierce scowl on his face, casting worried glances at the door and determinedly _not_ looking at Marco whilst hurriedly trying to fix his hair and clothing with hands shaking far more aggressively, now out of fear rather than nerves. Marco never liked to see someone like that, but he’d long since learnt that trying to help them overcome that fear or reassure them caused more harm than good, and tended to backfire unpleasantly. It wasn’t his place, particularly when he had no attachment to the guy. So he just sighed again, mourning the loss of a great make-out, and went about making himself look a little less obvious too.

“So,” he started, straightening up and moving to the door. Jean finally met his eyes again, expression still aggressively guarded, and trying to look calm and disinterested. Marco whined internally; hook-ups were so awkward. Especially when the other person was trying to pretend it never happened. But still, it never felt right to part without saying _something._ “Well, that was fun. You’re a good kisser Jean.”

It was difficult to tell, but he thought he saw Jean’s eyes widen a bit and his blush get a little darker. Marco smiled before turning to open the door.

“Right, so I’ll just-" he stopped when a hand tugged at his t-shirt, and looked back at him.

“You’re not,” Jean mumbled, voice hoarse and staring at Marco heatedly. “You’re not going to tell anyone. Right?”

He was defensive, and looked about on the brink of spitting out something ridiculous.

“Of course not.” Marco assured, but couldn’t help rolling his eyes as he turned around again. “I’ll just check if there’s anyone out there, and then you can follow whenever.”

He turned the lock as quietly as he could and eased the door open a crack. When he saw there was no one to the right, he slowly opened it further and peered round to check the other end of the corridor.

“All clear!” He smiled as he hopped out of the closet and left the door open for Jean to follow. He briefly turned to the teen still standing rigidly in the shadows, and gave as encouraging a smile as he could. “You’re gonna wanna be quick though; nowhere stays quiet for long!” And with a quick wave behind him, Marco walked down the small hall and looked for the friends he’d abandoned some time ago, as well as the refreshments.

He eventually found them sitting in a sort-of-circle on the floor of the living room, laughing, shouting, and generally getting in people’s way. He didn’t hesitate to join them, beer in hand and satisfied smile on his face.

“Hey!” Sasha greeted as he got closer, her enthusiasm interrupted when a brief look of shock passed over her expression, before she continued, giggling. “Wow. Kiss much?”

He couldn’t help the slight blush when everyone turned to look at him and laughed at what he assumed were his very red, swollen lips. He stuck his tongue out at her before sitting down with his own chuckle.

“Who’s the lucky guy then?” Connie asked, leaning across the circle and waggling his eyebrows.

“You know me Con’, a gentlemen never tells.” He said with a smirk and taking a sip of beer as people booed and scoffed around him.

“Lame!” Sasha declared loudly as everyone got back to their individual conversations.

“So,” Marco took another sip before smiling at Sasha. “Wha’d I miss?”

* * *

He hadn’t drank excessively at the party, or at least, it wasn’t the _most_ he’d ever drank. Nowhere near. But Monday still came around too quickly, and turning up to double Chemistry first period seemed like the hardest, cruellest chore.

He didn’t know if it was made better or worse when he stepped into the classroom and was greeted with the words:

“Connie fucked up!”

He looked at Mylius and found everyone crowded round his and Sasha’s bench, Connie having turned around from where he sat in front of them and pressing his forehead to the cheap plastic.

“I didn’t fuck up!” He argued, lifting his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, Marco’ll bail us out.”

Marco raised an eyebrow at him as he playfully shoved Nac out his seat, greeting Sasha as he reclaimed his rightful stool. It looked like he was the last of their friends to arrive, though there was still ten minutes before class started.

“There’s no ‘us’ in this Connie!” Mina spoke up from the other side of Sasha. “You’re the one who dragged us all to the party!”

“Ymir’s party on Saturday.” Thomas leant over to explain whilst they bickered. “Apparently it was invite only, and she Facebooked Connie yesterday demanding ‘reimbursement’ for the drink, food, and _entry_ since none of us were meant to be there.”

“And how am I meant to help?” Marco asked, turning back to Connie.

“Er, you’re related? I know you don’t get on, but surely you have some leeway to get her to cut me some slack.”

There was a moment of silence, before everyone burst out laughing.

“C-Con! I’m not _related_ to Ymir! Are you kidding?!” The shock on his face said he wasn’t.

“W-what?”

“Seriously Connie?!” Nac laughed. “I know some siblings don’t get on, but Marco _literally_ never talks to her!”

“I-I thought you were cousins!” He squeaked over everyone’s laughter. “You both have dark hair, a-and freckles! You’re both gay!” Everyone just laughed harder as Connie grumbled and ran his hands over his shaved head, an embarrassed blush dusting his cheeks.

“O-oh my God! Connie, y-you’re such an idiot!” Sasha gasped, clutching her stomach.

“And screwed!” Mylius added, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Yeah. _Separated at birth_ though we may be Con, Ymir’s not gonna give two shits about what I say!”

Connie groaned as everyone’s laughter died down, sitting up straight and frowning.

“Well I’m still not paying her! I don’t care what she says, that’s bullshit!”

“Oh yeah? How you gonna get out of it?” Nac leered.

“I’ll tell her. I’ll go right up to her, and say ‘Ymir? No. I will not pay you’re bullshit tax’.”

Mina scoffed. “More like you’ll avoid her for the rest of your school life and never log back into your Facebook!”

“Yeah, good luck with that Connie!” Thomas added. “She’s in this class ain’t she?”

“I will!” Connie argued, sitting straighter and more determined. “I won’t be bullied over shitty beer and stale chips! I’m not paying her, and I’ll tell her that as soon as she comes through that door!”

At that moment, they all whipped round to look at the door as it swung open, everyone’s breath catching with anticipation. But when they saw it was Jean who walked in and not Ymir, they all burst out laughing again, even Connie turned back around to laugh into his hands, unable to hide his relief.

“H-holy shit!”

“The _timing_!”

“I-I really thought…!”

“Did you see his _face_!”

They continued laughing, wheezing, wrapping their arms round their stomachs and wiping tears away, until Dr. Zoe walked in and called for everyone to get to their seats. Even then, they couldn’t help to odd giggle as the rest of their friends dispersed and left Marco, Sasha and Connie to collect themselves at the front.

Luckily for Connie, Ymir never showed up for class.

Didn’t stop him from casting worried glances at the door every five minutes though.

* * *

“Dude, you can’t leave me!”

Marco opened his locker and tried to catch all the mess before it fell out completely.

“I don’t know what you want me to do Connie. Free period or no free period, I can’t exactly waltz into your Calculus class and sit with you. I don’t even know what that’d do? We’ve been over this,” he grunted as he shoved a heavy book back into the narrow space. “Ymir doesn’t care what I think.”

“But you’d be a buffer! She might not attack if we stay in a herd!”

Marco snorted. “Two people don’t make a herd. And she might not even be there; she didn’t turn up to Chem-”

“She went to Art last period, I heard it from that Eren kid. There’s no way she won’t come to Calc. when she knows I’m in it.”

Marco took a moment to register the fact Eren – he was that angry kid that was friends with Armin right? – and Ymir were in the same art class. He shuddered at the thought of some of the pieces that must come out of those sessions.

“Look, you gotta face her at some point, and you don’t wanna add Mr. Ackerman to the list of dangerous people you’ve pissed off, which you will if turn up any later. Just,” Marco turned to him slightly, sighing as he rubbed the back his hair in thought. “Keep low and book it as soon as the bell rings. I’m meant to be meeting Reiner now so I’ll talk to him about it. I mean, they’re not friends, but I’ve seen him and Ymir talk a few times, which is more than can be said for the rest of us.”

“Think it’ll help?” Marco shrugged.

“Dunno. But it’s worth a shot.” He smiled sympathetically as Connie grumbled and deflated, noticing how he looked around the empty corridor with apprehension; he was going to be so late. Marco squeezed his shoulder before pushing him away from the lockers. “Get going idiot. And don’t freak out so much; not even Ymir has the balls to try anything in Ackerman’s class.”

Connie gave him a weak smile and started jogging down the hall, though Marco could still hear him whining as he went. He shook his head with a smile and turned back to the precarious pile in his locker – how was he going to get his History notes and gym gear whilst fitting in his backpack without causing an avalanche of crap?

He grunted and mumbled complaints as he tried to shift thing after thing to the back and side, trying to balance them long enough to dig out the small bag and red folder, typically shoved right to the bottom. He’d vaguely been aware that someone had walked behind him just as he’d grasped the red plastic, but he didn’t pay any mind to it; if he was in the way of their lockers, they were just going to have to wait.

It was only when he dropped the folder by his feet and went to grab the bag, that they spoke and he realised they were still there.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Marco started at their voice, deep and resentful, a bit shaky from what Marco assumed was anger. He frowned at the mess in front of him, before he awkwardly turned around, hands still holding shit in place, and confused beyond belief.

Marco wasn’t a particularly popular person, but he had a ‘Nice Guy’ reputation and was liked well enough. There’d been a couple of instances over the years, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone confronted him, and contrary to his mother’s fears, he’d never gotten much shit for being one of the few openly gay students. He supposed it was as much to do with his tall, strong build, as it was to do with his kind nature, though he was one for studying and staying clear of trouble. It’s why people greeted him in passing, and it’s why straight boys confided their curiosities in him; he was kind and quiet and half-decent on the eye.

So he had no idea why someone would come and say something that sounded so hateful to him.

He was even more confused when he saw it was Jean.

“Um,” Marco started, casting a look along the hallway to double check whether there was a third-party involved _somewhere_. “What?” he asked, feeling a bit lost and really not understanding the amount of anger and disgust Jean was looking at him with.

_What the fuck was going on?_

“I said,” Jean stepped closer, arms crossed, eyes burning, and every muscle in his body strung _tight_. “Who. The _fuck_. Do you think you are?”

Marco swallowed thickly, wanting to take a step back. Desperately wanting to untwist his body actually, but couldn’t do either when his locker was threatening to descend on him as much as Jean was.

“I, er. I don’t-”

“You been spreading lies about me Bodt?” he growled, inching even closer, though he looked keen on keeping at least _some_ distance. “You been talking shit with your friends?”

Marco frowned, eyes flitting between the downright scornful stare he was being given, still not really comprehending what the situation was about.

“I don’t understand Jean. I haven’t said anything. What are you talking abou-”

“Saturday.” He spat, body practically buzzing with irritable anger. But at least now it clicked, and Marco really had to struggle not to roll his eyes at him, because he knew it’d just piss him off worse. But, seriously? That was what this was about?

He sighed and let his body relax a little. He turned around to face his locker again, and spoke as he went back to uncovering his gym bag – he was meant to meet Reiner on the basketball court, like, ten minutes ago.

“Look Jean, I don’t know what’s prompted this, but I didn’t tell anyone about Saturday.”

“Bullshit!” Was the hissed reply, and it made Marco’s body cinch with instant offense. Getting angry wouldn’t help the situation, but there was a tone to Jean’s voice that grated, and Marco never took well to people insulting his integrity. It brought out an old bitterness in him, made him think uncharacteristically in spite – _if you don’t want people knowing, then don’t make out with guys in the first place!_ – and he didn’t like that.

“I didn’t.” he stated coldly, finally gripping the bag’s handle and yanking it unthinkingly. “I wouldn’t.”

“How fucking stupid do you think I am?!”

Regardless of how juicy the bait, it was never wise to take it. Instead, Marco slammed the locker door closed before anything could fall. He was going to regret that later.

Seemed like a recurring theme recently.

“I told you, I haven’t said anything Jean. There’s nothing _to_ say.” He turned around and found Jean in an even worse state, cheeks flushed with anger and tense body slowly unfurling with every exchanged word.

“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it!” Marco was taken aback by the shout, and was concerned for a moment that it would draw attention, but Jean didn’t give him much time to think on it. “You really think I’m too stupid to have not noticed this morning?! You and your shit friends fucking _laughing_ at me?!”

Marco’s eyes widened, but now he was even more confused. This morning? He must have meant Chemistry, ‘cause that was the only time they were ever near each other, but then he would have known they were laughing at Con-

_He saw Jean swing the door open, the frown on his face replaced with shock as Marco briefly met his eyes and their group burst into laughter. His stomach was cramping and breath wheezing as he looked up at Connie, barely registering the boy walking behind him, fists clenched and face shadowed._

_Fuck_.

“No,” Marco shook his head, frowning as everything started to make sense, but didn’t look any less stupid. “Jean, we weren’t laughing at you. Connie-”

“You’re fucking kidding right? The minute I opened the door-”

“It was just bad timing! I didn-”

“Stop lying!” Marco shut his mouth , but it didn’t stop the frustration from building. If Jean would just listen, he’d see how stupid this was. But fighting anger with anger wasn’t going to solve anything, so he kept quiet and waited for a better opportunity to explain. “Who the fuck do you think you are!” He didn’t think he’d seen anyone as angry as Jean was at that moment, skin red and voice quivering with rage. “Talking about me like that! Fucking spreading lies!” Marco took a deep breath to stop himself from shouting back. “I’m not some disgusting faggot like you!”

He saw red.

Marco snatched the collar of Jean’s t-shirt in both hands and yanked him with enough strength to swing them round and slam Jean’s back into the lockers. He kept his tight fists pressed there, stepping threateningly close and using every inch of his height to stare down at Jean’s shocked face.

He could still see his anger, but now he looked scared too, and Marco could feel that spur him on. Because if Jean was the angriest he’d ever seen someone, then this was the angriest he had ever felt.

“I couldn’t give less of a shit about you Jean.” He growled, making sure to look Jean dead in the eyes. “I haven’t told anyone about Saturday, and I never will. Because I’m not like that. And y’know what, even if I was, I still wouldn’t say anything about you because there’s nothing worth talking about. Do you think you’re special? Do you think you’re the first _straight_ _guy_ to come to me? ‘Cause you’re not. You won’t be the last either. There’s a hundred pieces of shit like you in every school, and I wouldn’t waste a single breath on any of you. You’re just another pair of hands, a pair of lips to work with, that’s all.

“I don’t care what you do Jean. I don’t care if you’re straight, gay, or fucking _Harry Potter_ for the rest of your life. But I won’t be spoken to like that. I won’t stand for that word, or that kind of language. You think you regret me now, but it’s nothing compared to how you’ll feel if I hear you say that word again, y’understand?” Jean nodded and gulped as he looked down. Marco pushed off his fists to move away, finally releasing him and taking a strange pride in the fact the material stayed bunched where he had held it.

He bent down to pick up his gym bag and folder, cursing mentally that he’d forgotten to put his backpack in his locker. Like hell he was going to do that now. So he swung it back onto his shoulder, and looked back at Jean before he walked away. He hadn’t moved an inch, head bowed and fingers pressing against the lockers in loose fists.

“I didn’t tell anyone Jean.” Marco repeated, voice cold but longer threatening. “I won’t. This morning was coincidental. It had nothing to do with you.”

With that, Marco finally made his way to the courts, praying that Reiner would still be waiting for him. God knows he could do with the work out now more than ever.

* * *

Turned out he _was_ still there - melodramatic in his complaints – and he also had some dirt on Ymir that got her off Connie’s back with little more than a few choice words and hissed threats, _promises_ , should he think about crossing her again. And after Connie treated Reiner to a cheap dinner in thanks, normality resumed. Ymir acted like they didn’t exist, Connie was loud and boisterous, drunken nights were few and far between, and Jean and Marco never spoke a word to each other, or even looked in each other’s direction.

There were a couple of times the first week after the altercation, where Marco would feel bad for what he’d done; he’d been pretty heavy handed and threatening, which was an unaccustomed feeling. But then he’d hear that word ringing in his mind, and he’d push any guilt and sympathy he felt away with every reverberation. Jean hadn’t showed any remorse himself, so that week, and the weeks after it, passed with little thought on the matter. Weeks bled in months, as they were wont to do, and Marco had assumed that the only interaction he and Jean would have during their high school years was over and done with. That was, until two months after the whole unpleasant fiasco.

He never did like English.

“Right then,” Mr. Dok bellowed, silencing the room’s chatter and drawing everyone’s attention to the front where he was holding a register and looking at the students over the glasses perched on his nose with his perpetual scowl. “We’ve been going over these techniques for the last couple of weeks, and with the exam approaching, we need to be moving on swiftly. However, I know a lot of you are still having difficulty, and it’s been pointed out to me that the examples used thus far have been… limited. So, what’s going to happen, is you’re going to work in pairs, and I’ll give each pair a different text. I want a detailed summary of how the language was used and its effectiveness according to the purpose of the text. Please, please remember discourse everyone, and if your text includes images etc., remember to comment on the juxpostioning. Next week, each pair will present the text and their commentary, and depending on the quality of work, I might make copies of everyone’s piece so you’ll all have these examples for your revision. We’ll see. But at least this way, we’ll be covering more ground without losing time. Everyone understand?”

There was a collective mumble of _yes Sir_ , everyone already knowing that they wouldn’t be able to chose their own partner. Some teachers just seemed to like making their students as uncomfortable as possible. And since Sasha was the only one of Marco’s friends in this class, probability wasn’t in his favour either.

“Right. I’ll select the pairs at random. The first person I call, remain in your seat, and the second, go sit with them. If the person next you is called first, please move to the back of the classroom so their partner can sit down and I’ll pair you up afterwards. Olivia and James P.”

Marco listened half-heartedly as the pairs were called out, praying he was paired up with some decent. He was a good student, but linguistics really wasn’t his strong suit, and the last couple of weeks had been particularly mind numbing. Someone who was good at this, or dare he say, passionate about this stuff would be a godsend. Someone he could have fun with would be just as welcomed.

“Jean and Sasha.”

Marco immediately looked in Jean’s direction, just catching his wince as he continued doodling a bit more aggressively, clearly not thrilled about the pairing. Marco frowned too, not only was his preferred ‘someone fun’ taken - as expected – but everyone knew he and Sasha were good friends, and he was a tad concerned Jean would take out any lingering resentment he had for Marco on her.

He watched her bounce over to Jean, and greet him enthusiastically as she flung herself into the seat next to him. Jean frowned at her, unimpressed.

“Daz and Marco.”

It took a while for Marco to figure out where Daz sat, and he tried to do it as discretely as possible whilst he was collecting his stuff. He just about spotted him by the windows as he stood up, and noticed that Daz had been watching him all along. He gave Marco an awkward wave and a grimace of a smile that told him he hadn’t been as subtle as he hoped – or at least that Daz hadn’t expected him to know where he sat – so he gave the most enthusiastic smile he could as he made his way over.

Marco didn’t know him very well, but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid. He had a few classes with him over the years, and he hadn’t changed much; just seemed to get more and more uncomfortable, and constantly on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Marco had heard that his parents were crazy strict, the type that expected full marks from every class, so he wasn’t surprised that he looked about forty and skittered about the school nervously.

He vowed mentally to be the best partner he could be, and work hard on the task with him; try and take some of the pressure off those tense shoulders.

It wasn’t until he was a couple of steps away that he realised exactly where Daz sat. He was one of the lucky ones, sharing a desk along the window, but he was also sat right in front of Jean.

Great.

“Hiya Daz.” He greeted, smiling down at him and resolutely not glancing in Jean’s direction.

“Hey Marco.” He replied with another shaky smile, shuffling forward a bit so Marco could squeeze behind him and get to the window seat. Sasha didn’t hesitate to tap his ass as he passed.

“Yooo!” she stage whispered, and he turned to face her once he sat down, sticking his tongue out at her with a smile.

Five minutes later, Mr. Dok slapped a blurry, black and white photocopy on their desk, and Marco swivelled round to fully face the front. Daz awkwardly slid the paper between them so they could both see it, and began reading the text quickly.

“So, I’m not very good at this,” Marco started. “But the first thing that stands out to me is the kind of serious, Times New Roman type font they’ve used against the cartoon picture and curved border. It’s a pretty stark contrast, but I think it’s insinuating the target audience is adults, when a lot of people would have assumed it was children if the font had been more cursive, or fun. What do you think Daz?”

He looked at Marco surprised, but soon smiled at him a little more genuinely, and Marco was proud to see his body relax a little. Clearly he had expected to do all the work, and was grateful that Marco was taking this as seriously as he was.

Marco picked up his pen and started to take notes as Daz responded.

* * *

It took them twenty minutes to finish the task, and Marco thanked his lucky stars that he’d been paired with someone as smart as Daz. Working through the text with him had really helped Marco see what he had a tendency for missing, and it helped to discuss the different angles and interpretations a single text could have. They worked well together, and Daz seemed keen to have someone to bounce his ideas off. But still, they had another forty minutes left of class, and nothing to do whilst everyone else continued working noisily.

“I’m going to ask Mr. Dok to look this over, and ask if I can get it copied so we both have one.” Daz said, already rising from his seat.

“Oh! Are you sure? I don’t mind-”

“It’s fine.” He smiled a little at Marco, now far more at ease, and walked to the front, where Mr. Dok was watching him with an annoyed frown.

“Hey Marco,” Sasha whispered, and he turned around to look at her. She was leaning over Jean’s side - who didn’t look to pleased about it - and pointing out the window, looking at him from the corner of her eye with a grin. “Check out who’s doing track.”

Marco turned around completely, leaning over the back of his chair, and looked to where she was pointing. They were pretty high up and the track was quite some meters away, but Marco could spot that spiky, ash-blond hair anywhere.

“Oh my God, it’s Farlan!” He whispered excitedly, now watching the group of boys running as eagerly as Sasha was.

Marco wouldn’t call it a crush, but he’d liked Farlan since he was an awkward freshman, stumbling into the wrong class and having his butt saved by the quietly amused upperclassman. He was tall, funny, and very sweet, in Marco’s opinion. He also did every sport under the sun, so had a body to die for.

“Is that your boyfriend or something?” Marco started at the question, surprised Jean had said anything at all. He looked at him to see Jean watching the track with feigned disinterest, a slight frown marring his features.

“Marco wishes!” He scoffed at Sasha’s remark and went back to watching Farlan as he started to pick up speed and overtake the boys in front of him. He could just make out the flush to his cheeks and the smile on his face.

“I’d definitely swap my seat in Thursday’s Calculus for one right here.” Sasha hummed her agreement, and there was a moment of silence as they continued to watch Farlan pull away from the crowd.

“What?” They both looked at Jean as he stared at them questioningly.

“We have window seats in Calc. when the boys have Phys Ed.” Sasha explained. “I mean, it’s right next to the sports field, so we’ve got a better view, but Farlan’s so much hotter!”

“Wait, wait!” Jean sat up straighter and looked at Sasha before meeting Marco’s eyes for the first time in two months. He looked just as uncomfortable now as he had then. “You mean, you just watch guys as they work out? You check them out without them even knowing?” He scowled when they both simply nodded. “That’s perverted.”

Sasha and Marco laughed, trying to keep it down lest Mr. Dok came to check on them.

“What exactly do you think I can get up to during class?” Marco asked, cocking his head to the side and chuckling as a faint blush appeared on Jean’s cheeks.

“Besides, it’s not like you guys don’t do exactly the same thing with the girls!” Sasha added, playfully hitting Jean’s shoulder, which he looked less than impressed with. They both laughed quietly when Jean’s blush darkened, but he didn’t respond until they’d all gone back to watching the track team for a while.

“What is there to even watch?” He mumbled, looking a bit embarrassed when he saw that he had both Marco and Sasha’s attention. “I mean, I’d get it if it was girls, ‘cause they, y’know… bounce.” Marco quickly covered his mouth to muffle his laughter. Sasha was less careful.

“So do boys, depending on what underwear they’re wearing!” She jibed, sniggering, and Marco had never seen such as scandalized look on someone’s face before.

“Well,” he started, bringing their attention back to him. “There’s something to be said for watching someone get hot and sweaty. All those muscles straining, and those short shorts…”

Sasha giggled as she nodded in agreement. Jean frowned at him, eyes narrowing in an expression Marco didn’t even want to guess at, before he turned to look out the window again with a mumbled, “whatever” just as Daz walked back into class.

* * *

Marco sighed as he watched the boys meander onto the field, and pined for the view he saw on Tuesday.

“Alright dipshits,” Mr. Ackerman said, barely having to raise his voice to get the room’s – _most_ of the room’s – attention. “We’re gonna go over this one more time, and so help me God if I don’t see full marks for trigonometry. The calculator does all the fucking work anyway.”

Sasha was right, they were much closer to the field and were right above where the stretches and warm-ups took place, but that didn’t mean anything when there was no one decent to look at.

“What’s wrong Kafta? Did I say a bad word? Are you going to run and tell the principle, or your mummy? Grow up.”

He supposed Armin’s friend was ok. He had nice skin, and really pretty eyes. He was a bit short though, and got so competitive that it was a little frightening to be honest.

“I’ll tell you what, if you can get a damn 70 on next week’s practice paper, I’ll get on my hands and knees on this filthy floor and apologise. 70. You hear that? I’m not even asking for a good mark, just some goddamn effort.”

Marco scanned the crowd, eager to find a distraction, when he spotted Jean stretching his shoulders and talking with some lanky kid with a terrible bowl haircut. He had forgotten – semi-purposefully – that he was in that class. It occurred to Marco after Tuesday’s English, that that was the first _real_ conversation he and Jean had ever had, and he couldn’t deny that he was surprised Jean had spoken to him at all after what happened. It was obvious Jean still didn’t like him, but thankfully he seemed to have gotten over their fight and the general unpleasantness of their brief association. Marco didn’t care what Jean thought of him, but he was still glad the past was somewhat forgotten, even if only for the fact it hadn’t backfired on Sasha in English.

_He was just his usual grumpy self_ , was all she had to say when Marco asked about how he was working with her.

Whatever Bowl Cut was saying didn’t seem too interesting since he watched Jean’s eyes and attention roam over their surroundings, still with that relaxed frown on his face. Marco was beginning to wonder if he ever smiled.

Just as he was about to look away, he noticed Jean’s body tense a bit. Interest piqued, he continued to watch as Jean tried to nonchalantly swing round a bit and look up at the school building as he made some kind of encouraging reply to Bowl Cut.

He watched as Jean’s gaze flit to his classroom, and followed along the window until their eyes suddenly met. Marco raised his eyebrows as Jean started, and wasn’t surprised when the shock fell from his face and that frown turned into a glower. Jean held eye contact for a while, clearly pissed off – Marco wasn’t sure what kind of reaction Jean was looking for from him – before spinning around and stomping off into a jog, going further onto the field. He very briefly looked back at Marco before snapping at a confused Bowl Cut which urged the kid to catch up with him.

“Bodt!”

“Yes Sir!” Marco called, his posture straightening instantly as if his marionette string had been pulled, and looked to Mr. Ackerman with what was probably a very guilty blush.

“Those questions better be completed by the time I get to your desk.”

“Yes Sir!”

* * *

“What the fuck did I tell you Springer?”

Connie blanched as Ymir greeted them at the door, leaning against the frame with a beer can dangling from her hand. She looked half-way between unimpressed and pissed off, but Connie recovered quickly and crossed his arms over his chest as he tried to stand as tall as his five-foot-nothing would allow.

“Fuck off Ymir. This is Chirsta’s party, not yours. Besides, she personally invited Marco, Reiner, _and_ Sasha, and said they could bring whoever they liked. So back off, and let us in.”

Ymir grumbled as she stepped aside, but they didn’t get too far in before she hissed a warning.

“Start shit, and I’ll _personally_ throw you out on your ass.”

“How bad and skewered a reputation must Connie have created, if _she_ says that to us.” Mina whispered as Ymir stalked away.

Marco shrugged and continued walking in, scanning the crowded hallways and rooms to get a feel what was going on. He was pretty taken aback by the amount of people here, though he guessed he shouldn’t be. Christa was probably the most popular person in the school, and had more admirers and friends than Marco could fathom. She also had a stinking rich family, though that knowledge could never have prepared him for the sight of her house when Thomas had pulled up. It was a huge, white, stately-mansion of a thing, so really, he shouldn’t be all that surprised that she appeared to have invited the entire school and managed to fit them all in.

It was still a bit of a struggle though, to get through certain areas, particularly as group. For a while they wondered around, talking to a few people they spotted and helping themselves to the drinks dotted around the place. Just as Sasha and Reiner started dragging them to what looked like the dancing area, and Nac and Mylius slipped outside to light up, Marco pulled away and finally found the kitchen and the real source of booze and food. It was surprisingly deserted, but then it wasn’t like there wasn’t a thousand different distractions going on.

There were at least two different sound systems going, upstairs was thumping worryingly, and there was a ruckus of cheers and laughter coming from outside that was all too easy to hear now that Marco was is the open-plan kitchen that lead out onto the well lit and _packed_ backyard.

As he made his way around a couple trying to feed each other pizza and suck each other’s faces simultaneously, he spotted Jean leaning against the counter and staring at the commotion outside as he sipped beer. He looked like he’d put some effort into his appearance; Marco could just imagine the amount of care he took to shape his hair into that ‘I just ran my hand through it’ style, and his hugging dark blue jeans just had that look of ‘New’. He still didn’t look to happy to be here though, glaring – what Marco would call – confused daggers outside and probably at the latest person to rub him the wrong way.

A full two weeks and a day had passed since Mr. Ackerman had chewed Marco out and Jean had spotted him looking out the window. Given his reaction, he’d expected Jean to say something – though what, he had no idea – the next time they saw each other. But he’d ignored Marco as per usual the next day during Chemistry, and their presentations in English passed without a word to each other. Everything returned to normal bar the almost immediate glare Jean shot Marco every Thursday as he walked onto the field. And there was _always_ a glare. The other week Marco had briefly looked up from his test only to catch Jean’s scornful eye before he was called away by Coach Shadis.

(At test he aced with a 98. Though poor Franz wasn’t so lucky, only receiving a 64 and a nonchalant, but not derisive, ‘well done for passing’ from Mr. Ackerman.)

He wasn’t keen on breaking that normalcy or getting his head bitten off for whatever made Jean look at him like he was gum on the sole of his shoe, so he slinked round the few people gathered there and made his way unnoticed to the _banquet table_ of drinks. He was in the mood for something a little stronger, and eager to feel that carefree buzz. As he was perusing the bottles of spirits lined up, he heard a voice shout over the concoction of noise in the room.

“Yo Horseface!” he turned to see Eren barge his way through a giggling group and knocked his fist against Jean’s tense back, whose mood only seemed to further sour at his approach. Marco snorted at the nickname as he went back to picking a drink, and casually eavesdropped as he poured.

“What do you want Eren?”

“Dude, you’ve been moping out here for like, an hour! Grab another drink and come join us!”

“I’m good.”

Solo Cup full, Marco started walking back out, glancing to see Eren’s frown and noticing a platter of goddamn tacos on Jean’s other side. He could really do with one of those, but he wasn’t sure it was worth stepping into Sir Grumpsalot’s radar.

“What the fuck are you even watching?” Maybe he could risk it; Eren seemed to have the only part of Jean’s attention spared for the room, and they were both staring out the window now anyway. “Beer Pong’s not that interesting.” Marco quickly made his way to the counter in an awkward tiptoe that would have been entirely counterproductive had Eren and Jean not been so focused on what was happening outside. He grabbed a taco and bit into, barely holding back a moan at the glorious taste he hadn’t had in _years._

“I wanna know who wins.” Jean deadpanned. Marco snatched a plate off the side and started piling tacos on, intending to take them out to his friends, but not promising anything.

“That can’t be the same game!”

“It got sabotaged by some topless girl, so they started over.”

Marco jumped at Eren’s loud guffaw as he leant back and slapped Jean’s shoulder. “Is that why you’re watching? Hoping she’ll come back for round two? Dude, you need to get _laid_!” Marco went back to filling his plate, and wondered if it was rude to take half the platter.

“Fuck off Eren.”

“Whatever man. Come join us when you’re done, yeah? Maybe we’ll find you a girl who’ll take off her top just for you!”

Marco registered a second too late that what he’d just heard was the departure of his safety net. Thankfully he was done, and there was still a chance of a quick and painless escape. Except, when he looked up, Jean was already frowning at him and eyeing him and his plate with equal distaste.

“Er…” Marco wasn’t sure what he was meant to say, but he couldn’t just walk away after making eye contact. He briefly glanced down at his plate before meeting Jean’s stare head on. “They’re for my friends.”

Jean snorted in what was the first inkling of humour Marco had seen in him, and took a sip of his beer as he looked back out the window. “You sound like you got caught with drugs, not a plate of gross food.”

“Rude.” Marco huffed, lifting said plate and ready to walk away. That was an acceptable amount of socialising for the situation, right?

“I’m surprised you’re not watching too.” Jean called, though didn’t shift his gaze.

Marco frowned, taking the bait and turning back around to face him. “Topless girls aren’t really my thing.” The fire in Jean’s eyes when they snapped to him, told Marco that was the wrong thing to say, and that admitting to his eavesdropping wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Though, whether it could still be called eavesdropping with how loud Eren had been, Marco wasn’t too sure.

“No.” Jean annunciated slowly. “But lanky, blue-eyed upperclassmen are, right?”

Surprised, Marco leant forward to look out the window too, and gasped when he saw who was cheering as their ping pong ball splashed into a cup.

“Holy shit! What’s _Farlan_ doing here?!” he watched as the crowd around Farlan clapped him on the back, and couldn’t help but gulp when he saw the breathtaking smile he directed at his teammate as he urged him forward. “Sasha’s gonna _die.”_ He said as stepped back, but not quite ready to tear his gaze away.

Until Jean finally broke the silence. “‘Suppose this is your big chance, huh?” Marco turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “To hit on him. Ask him out. Whatever it is you do.” Jean explained, taking a large gulp of beer and not looking at him.

Marco rolled his eyes and picked up his plate and drink again, needing to find Sasha A.S.A.P. “Guess it’ll be a piece of cake.” Jean continued. “What, with all your _experience.”_ He finished with an unpleasant wince, staring into the dregs of his can before knocking them back.

“Whatever Jean.” Marco sighed, finally walking away and hoping Sasha was still dancing in the living room.

He could detect that Jean was having a dig, but at what or why, he didn’t know or care. But he was wrong. Fooling around with pretty ‘straight boys’ when they came to him was one thing, but _chasing_ a straight guy was another, and Marco was too smart to be taking that well-trodden path. So, no. He wouldn’t be trying it on with Farlan tonight.

But he was going to take this opportunity to get to know him a bit better, and maybe challenge him to a game or two.

* * *

He was so drunk. And weightless. God, he hadn’t felt this weightless in a _long_ time. It was lovely, and warm, and Marco could stay like this forever.

The crowds had thinned out now that it was early morning rather than late night, but the music was still thrumming, and laughter and conversation was a constant buzz around him. He felt like he was floating on a cloud, light and close to the sun, all noise muffled by the cotton white he drifted on.

What he was actually lying on was the carpeted floor of a mostly abandoned room, only a few people still hovering around it and stepping over he and his friends’ spread out forms. Sasha was next to him, and he could just see the tip of her finger in the corner of his sight as it traced nonexistent patterns on the ceiling. Bertolt was laying somewhere above their heads, quietly humming to himself, and Nac was silent and still, a little further to the side.

It was so peaceful. They should do this more often. He could just imagine how much easier life and school would be if they just drank all the time. Daz should drink. Marco bet he’d calm down and enjoy his lessons more if he felt like this.

It wasn’t a thought that stayed long in Marco’s mind, as he once again replayed the memories of the evening. That was perhaps the best thing about being in this wonderful state of drunk; the clear and handsome vision of Farlan was never far from the forefront of his mind. The image of his challenging smirk appeared unprompted. His loud laugh sounded in his ears. His hard clap on Marco’s shoulder, and the nudge into his side, brushed his body with a lingering warmth again. Marco didn’t think he’d ever forget what it looked like, what it _felt_ like, to stand opposite him and stare into those heated blue eyes, the competitiveness between them borderline flirtatious and far too excessive for a game of Flip Cup. He’d never forget the look of impressed surprise when Marco had beaten him and ended up forcing him to drink against his own team. He’d treasure the friendly, almost proud congratulations Farlan had showered him with.

The memories were constantly playing through his mind, little moments and finer details fading in and out of focus, and Marco knew there must be the dopiest smile on his face. But he was so happy.

They were only interrupted when Nac finally made a sound, and Marco turned to watch him struggle to his feet.

“‘m gonna be sick.” It took a while to register through the haze, but as soon as it did, Marco was alert and panicking.

“Yeah.” Sasha sighed, before Marco could even move.

“What?” he asked, looking at her confused, and concerned for Nac.

“‘m gonna be sick too.” She said, smiling at him broadly. His eyes widened, before he frantically tried to start standing up. _Fuck,_ they were screwed.

Marco managed to push himself into sitting up, but he groaned and huffed at the amount of effort it took. Christ, was his body heavy. Was it always this heavy, or had he put on weight with the amount of alcohol he’d drank tonight?

He eventually managed to stand on wobbly legs, and just about helped a paling, giggling Sasha to her feet before he tried to usher both her and a too quiet Nac to the bathroom down the hall. It was so hard. Nac walked a little ahead, but he didn’t seem to want to keep his eyes open, and Sasha was swaying so much she almost pulled Marco along with her when he held her shoulders. And his own body. It was a serious difficulty to move and control every part of it. God, he was heavy. What did his body weigh? How the hell did manage to move these dead-weight, sacks-of-meat limbs on an everyday basis? Why couldn’t he do that now when he needed to rush everyone into the room that seemed an eternity away?

He prayed that no one was in there. The door looked closed, but that didn’t mean anything right? Nac was holding a hand to his mouth, and Marco could tell he was swallowing too much. Sasha’s cheeriness and steps were faltering tellingly, and they really needed to get to a _toilet_ now.

He could’ve cried with relief when the door opened just as they were approaching it, and a ruffled Jean started stumbling out.

“Fu-hic-king hell Eren. Can’t a guy piss in pe-hic-peace?” he groused into his phone, only noticing Nac’s quick approach when he was shoved back into the room and aside. “‘m on my way da-hic-damnit!”

Marco could just about register him frowning at Nac’s retching back as he put his phone away, before he and Sasha were standing in front of him and causing him to have a tiny heat-attack.

“Hey! It’s my Failing English Buddy-mm!” Marco yanked Jean out of the way as Sasha hurled an impressive amount vomit that landed on the titles with a distinct and nauseating splat. They both shuddered and groaned at the noise and sight, before they we pushed aside by a rushing Thomas, who eased Sasha into a kneel on the ground. He had no idea where he came from, but Marco watched him rub her back and hold her hair, whispering what was probably utter nonsense, and only wincing slightly when she heaved again. Marco managed to stand there for a total 15 seconds, before he had to move away from the doorway, and stumbled to lean against the wall, breathing deeply to settle his own queasy stomach.

A high-pitched hiccup startled him, and he opened his eyes to see an equally unwell looking Jean move towards him and away from the defaced bathroom. If Marco had any energy, he’d be in hysterics over the serious expression Jean wore when he’d made such a ridiculous noise. He didn’t even know drunk people hiccupping was a real thing.

“‘m not drunk. Hic!” Marco seriously had to think for a moment whether Jean had just read his mind, or if he’d mistakenly said it out loud. Both seemed equally impossible at that moment. “I was. But-hic-‘coming down now. Ti-hic-psy. Maybe.”

Seriously. How was he acting so normally, so severe, like those were noises a human normally made? They didn’t even sound like normal hiccups.

“I’m wasted.” Marco mumbled back, leaning his head against the wall and peering down at Jean in a way that hurt his eyes, but stopped the excessive spinning.

“Ah.” Jean fell heavily against the wall, leaning on his shoulder and facing Marco, though not meeting his eyes. For a while there was silence, interrupted only by Jean’s hiccupping and the muffled, combined retching of Nac and Sasha. Marco felt like should go help them, but he also felt a bit delicate, on the cusp of joining them, and the last thing anyone needed in that bathroom was more vomit. “Thanks, by the way.”

Marco didn’t know what he was looking at before, but he turned back to Jean at his mumble. He was rubbing sheepishly at his supporting arm, and finally looked up at Marco when there was no acknowledgment. “For g-hic-getting me outta the firing line.” He clarified, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and towards the bathroom.

“Oh. Y’elcome.”

There was quiet again, and Marco faced the opposite wall as he let his concentration wander. He was feeling a bit better, getting the tiniest bit sober by the minute, but he was going to need some water soon. He probably needed it hours ago actually.

“For wha-hic-what it’s worth,” Marco shifted to face Jean as he spoke quietly, mildly surprised - even in his inebriated state - that Jean was holding eye contact from the start. “I’m sorry for what I said. Cou-hic-couple months back.” Marco didn’t even need to think about what he meant; he knew instantly.

“‘Cause I saved you from a barf shower?”

“No.” Jean scoffed, and for a heart stopping moment, Marco thought he heard a laugh, a _giggle_ to his voice and saw a touch of a smile on his lips. Maybe he wasn’t drunk. Maybe he was second-hand high and hallucinating. “‘Cause it was a sh-hic-it thing to say. ‘N’ I didn’ mean it. Hic. I’was just…” he made some indistinct, wavy gesture with his hand, and finally broke eye contact to watch it move as if it was telling the whole, riveting story.

Marco had no idea what it meant, but he could tell from Jean’s crestfallen face and determined eyes that the apology was genuine. Whatever reasoning those hand movements held, they wouldn’t justify Jean’s actions. But the distinct remorse he emitted was enough for Marco. It wasn’t okay, and it wasn’t fine, but he was apologetic and trying; qualities Jean Kirstein infamously lacked.

“I forgive you.” Jean looked up at him, all movement stopping.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” Marco nodded with a small smile.

Jean let his hand fall to his side, and Marco watched his eyes flit over his face. He seemed to relax a little, though the relentless hiccups continued to jar his body intermittently.

“Thanks.” He whispered, meeting Marco’s eyes again. “ M really sorry.” Marco just nodded again, and a second later jumped out of his skin when Jean’s phone started blaring. “Urgh. M’ride.” He mumbled, shaking his phone at Marco as if he didn’t already know that’s where the noise was coming from.

He ended the call without answering, and pushed himself away from wall. He seemed to hesitate before walking away, but Marco’s mind was already on his own ride home, so he didn’t really notice if he lingered awkwardly or not. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply one last time as he heard footsteps walk away, before he straightened up and moved back to the bathroom’s doorway.

The stench nearly knocked him for six, but he hung in there with a shaky breath and a tight grip on the door frame. Sasha, god bless her, was still heaving, and had really done a number on the floor. Beside her, Thomas was still soldiering on, being as soothing and supportive as possible. Nac looked like he was done for the time being, curled against the wall with his eyes shut and dried tear tracks on his face.

Marco felt someone come up behind him, and knew instantly from the large presence it was Reiner. He cast a brief look at him over his shoulder, and caught the cringe he made when he looked into the room.

“How much dirt have you got on Ymir?” Marco mumbled, cringing himself when Sasha upchucked another load.

He watched Reiner give the room a surveying look as he took another sip of his beer (Marco’s stomach turned just at the thought), before he replied nonchalantly, “Enough.”

* * *

Marco got as far as finding and donning disposable gloves, before Christa found him and insisted that he didn’t have to do anything, and that a cleaner would be arriving in the morning (proper) to take care of the mess.

He felt awful leaving it, and couldn’t stop apologising on his friends’ behalf as they were all ushered out the door. Christa was too sweet for her own good, and she had no idea just how bad the state of that room was. Luckily Ymir had already passed out somewhere, but it didn’t make Marco feel any better about the situation.

The ride back to their houses was quiet and unpleasant. The motion wasn’t doing anyone any favours, and Sasha and Nac stank the car out, though nobody mentioned it. Marco volunteered to be the last drop-off, and helped Thomas get those passed out back into their homes.

By the time he finally made it to his own bed, he was exhausted and his head was throbbing. He thankfully passed out as soon as his head touched the pillow, not even giving him enough time to question whether tonight was worth the pain he was going to suffer tomorrow.

* * *

“I have so many regrets about Friday.”

Marco turned around in his seat to face Sasha behind him. As was customary during their Thursday Calculus class, she was watching the sports fields outside, though the boys were only just making their way out.

“You’ve already apologised Sash. I told you, it happens to the best of us.” Marco replied, giving her a sympathetic smile when she glanced at him.

“I know.” She sighed. “I don’t know what I would have done with you guys. And poor Thomas.” She was still looking at the field forlornly. “I still feel bad about it though. And now I realise what a mistake it was to hang out with Farlan.”

Marco raised an eyebrow, before swivelling in his chair to face forward, but keeping his head tilted towards Sasha. Ms. Ral may be one of the more lenient subs, but he didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention.

“I thought you had fun?”

“Yeah, a shit-ton. But having seen him up close and basking in his literal perfection, I kind of can’t really appreciate what’s on offer here.” She nodded to the window, and Marco looked down to see the class assembled. “The one thing keeping me sane in this class has now been tainted. I’m so jealous of those losers in Tuesday English. They don’t even make the most of it.”

Marco chuckled quietly, and watched as the guys below started stretching and warming up. She had a point, but there was still a few generically hot guys there that appealed to Marco enough for a distraction. He’d still prefer to watch Farlan’s class, but there you go.

It was only after he spotted Bowl Cut pointing haughtily at someone, that he realised he hadn’t been met with an angry stare yet. He scanned the crowd and quickly spotted Jean stretching his arms a little further away from the building argument. He couldn’t see his face, but his head was angled in way that suggested he was watching the fight unfold.

Marco wondered what had broken the habit, and thought back to Friday’s apology. Maybe that was Jean’s way of burying the past completely. Maybe he had been glaring at Marco ‘cause he was pissed off at his own guilt. That didn’t seem likely. But it was logical to assume that what happened Friday – the last time they interacted – and this change of attitude were related. Then again, maybe Marco had been over thinking the whole thing from the start.

As he continued to contemplate, he let his eyes wonder over Jean’s body unthinkingly. He hadn’t checked him out since Ymir’s party; hadn’t wanted to. He wasn’t even sure if that was what he was doing now, but he couldn’t help but notice the way Jean’s shoulder blades shifted under his shirt when he switched arms, or the way his shorts hugged his outline.

Marco’s eyebrows rose.

They weren’t short and they weren’t exactly tight, but those shorts were more fitted than the gym gear the boys usually wore. And now that Marco thought about it, his t-shirt was kind of fitted too. This was different. Jean had always worn fairly bagging work out gear; typically basketball shorts and a loose, dark tee, aiming to be as comfortable as possible. Marco was confused, before the memory of Jean’s new jeans and styled hair as he stood in Christa’s kitchen popped into his head. Maybe he was changing his look? It didn’t seem like a very Jean thing, but neither did the fitted red shorts and white tee he was currently wearing.

After his eyes trailed up Jean’s back again, a sharp shock shot through his veins as he met Jean’s eyes, peering over his shoulder at him as he twisted his waist. Marco swallowed thickly, awaiting what would be an outraged, disgusted, reaction now that he’d been caught _actually_ checking him out. But there wasn’t one. In fact, there was no reaction at all. Jean’s face remained neutral, and his eyes looked bored as he held eye contact with Marco for a few seconds, before he twisted round the other side, not looking at Marco again.

_What the fuck?_

Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Maybe he just looked for Marco out of habit, even if he wasn’t inclined to give him death glares anymore. Who knew?

Marco sure as hell didn’t.

“Holy shit! What the fuck are those guys doing?!” Marco whipped his head round to look at the guy in front of him, noticing for the first time how there was a lot of laughter in the room.

“I take it all back! I wouldn’t miss this for anything!” He looked round at Sasha almost wetting herself, and finally looked back down to where everyone seemed to be staring.

Bowl Cut was lying on the floor, simultaneously cowering and trying to… _flap_ the guy on top of him away. The guy didn’t seem to know what to do, because from where Marco was sitting, it looked like he wanted to punch Bowl Cut, but was instead poking him aggressively. He knew they were arguing before, but when the hell had they started rolling around on the floor?

_And what the hell were they doing?_

* * *

A new routine had begun on Thursdays.

Marco would spot Jean warming up, and end up watching him as he work through all the exercises. At first it was accidental. He’d watch to wait and see what kind of stare Jean would send his way; to see if that first nonchalant look was a one-off, or if he was still pissed off with Marco for whatever reason. See whether Jean would look for him at all. But then, he’d always get lost in the sight, the movements of Jean’s body. And then. Then Jean would look back as he stretched, meet Marco’s eyes for a second, and continue like it had never happened.

There was no reaction, no quirk to his brow or lips, no tension or ease to his frame. He’d look at Marco like he’d glance at cloud passing overhead. Which he guessed was normal. Normal for everyone who hadn’t spent a good fortnight trying to kill him with his eyes.

During Phys Ed.

No other time.

At least that hadn’t changed. Thursday afternoons were still the only time they interacted, if it could even be called that.

Marco wondered if it was because Jean could feel him staring. Maybe that’s why he looked ‘round without a care. Checking. Maybe if Marco didn’t wait to see his reaction, he wouldn’t give one. But then how would he know?

“Hey,” he whispered, hoping Sasha would hear him without either of them having to move. Mr. Ackerman looked busy at the front, but you could never be too careful. “You notice anything different about Jean?”

“Jean?” She whispered back. They both had their heads angled down, but their eyes turned to window. He was stretching for longer today, legs wide as he bent at the side to touch his ankle. “No? Been as quiet and grumpy as ever.”

“What about during P.E.?”

He heard Sasha feign turning a page before she answered.

“No. But I’ve never really paid attention; not my type.” Marco frowned as he continued to watch. “Looks normal enough now though.”

He was over thinking it. He knew it. Jean’s irrational behaviour had eventually made him paranoid, and now he couldn’t stop watching him like he was bomb about to go off.

A pretty bomb, to be fair. And one that was shifting his feet further apart before he bent forward and placed his hands on the ground as far in front of him as could, making his back dip, and his shorts stretch tight over-

_“Jesus!”_ Marco hissed, his desk clattering noisily as his leg jerked embarrassingly.

“Bodt!”

“I’m sorry Sir!” Marco replied instantly, eyes wide with fear and cheeks burning from a multitude of things. “Spasm in my leg!”

Was he shouting? Was it normal to reply that loudly, that quickly? People were looking. _Why_ was his face so red? Ackerman would be able to tell. He’d know he’d been lying, that he’d not be doing any work for the last ten minutes, that he’d just been checking Jean out, and now he’d have his _own_ ass handed to him-

“Just get back to work.” He snapped, bending back down to talk to whichever student Marco had distracted him from, and that was it.

Marco sighed, which was partially a pitiful whine, and rubbed his hands down his red, red face. What the fuck was he doing?

He heard Sasha give a low whistle behind him, now that the room wasn’t deathly silent.

“Kirstein’s got back.”

Marco wanted to argue. He wanted to scoff at her reference. He wanted to say he hadn’t noticed. But the first thought that came to his stupid, treacherous mind, was that that was a _huge_ understatement.

He cast a defeated look outside only to start as he met empty, tawny eyes.

_No way._

Jean looked away as he straightened fully, and jogged to catch up with the rest of the group.

_He was doing it on purpose?_

* * *

If he was being honest with himself, Marco was feeling a little bit sick. Last period Chemistry on Fridays were never good classes. It was always a far too intense way to finish his busy week. But after yesterday’s confusion, Marco felt even less prepared than usual.

He had to be overreacting. Whatever the hell was going through Jean’s mind, it couldn’t possibly be what it looked like. He couldn’t be doing that on purpose. For Marco. It was weird, no doubt about it, the way he would look at Marco every time, and yesterday was… he _had_ to have known why Marco was the colour of his shorts, and making eye contact after that was really fucking weird. But he wasn’t doing it for Marco’s sake.

There was no embarrassment, or flirtation to his actions. No challenge or coyness to his stare. And though they didn’t see a lot of each other during the week, English and Chemistry classes passed as if Jean was unaware of his existence –precisely as it always had, and should’ve always been.

So what the hell was with Thursdays?!

Those looks were purposeful, for sure. And now that Marco thought about it, Jean had been stretching for longer, steadily getting more strenuous with them. And then there was the tighter clothing, and yesterday… It felt like it was an intended progression. It was just the _what for_ that was getting to Marco.

“Hey,” he mumbled to Sasha next to him, keeping his eyes on the door to watch the students walking in for a distinct haircut. “Your Dad takes you hunting pretty often right? Are you any good?”

He cast her a quick glance when he didn’t receive a reply.“For both our sakes, I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that Bodt.”

He chuckled and gave her a sheepish smile.“Right. Sorry.” He kept an eye on the door, and swallowed nervously, knowing this could go pretty badly, depending on Sasha mood. “ So, you can be, like, _subtle,_ when you need to be?” Sasha gave him a confused look. “If I promise to buy you lunch tomorrow, can you do me a favour and keep an eye on someone during class? Without them knowing?”

“Who?” she asked, surprised and - dare Marco think it - intrigued by the question.

“If I also promise to buy desert and let you copy my notes for this class, will you swear not to give me shit for it?” he grumbled. The last thing he needed to worry about was Sasha’s teasing and the possibility of that getting anywhere near Jean, given how the - barely insinuated - last time went.

She seemed to actually think about it before shrugging her shoulders. “Sure. Who is it?”

Marco took a steadying breath, eyes not straying from the door. “Jean.”

“Cherry Sours?”

Marco faced her confused, to see her eyebrow cocked in question. “What?” he asked, but she waved his bewilderment over the nickname away with her hand, and encouraged him to continue. “Um, yeah. Just like, see what he does during class. If he, like, _looks_ at me or anything.”

Her eyebrows raised further. “You interested?”

“No!” he replied hastily, and little too loudly. “No, I’m not.”

“Think he’s interested in you?”

“No,” again, the response was quick, but it held an uncertain tone. “I dunno. I’m pretty certain he isn’t, but he’s been… acting a bit, different. I guess.” He ran his hand through his hair as he turned back to the door, frowning a little. “You promised not to give me shit, Sasha.” He reminded in a mumble.

She scoffed. “Trust me, this is not shit. Just trying to figure out the sudden curiosity. Is this what you were talking about yesterday?”

“Yeah.” He whispered, not allowing his eyes to stray now that it was just a few minutes before class. He didn’t want Jean walking in and overhearing this conversation.

There was a moment of silence, before Sasha finally agreed. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Thanks Sash.” He smiled. “You won’t tell anyone about this, right?”

“'Course not!” She beamed, nudging his shoulder just as Connie burst through the door and effectively stole Marco’s attention for the rest of the class.

At the back of his mind, he hoped Sasha hadn’t been as caught up in Connie’s antics.

* * *

Marco sighed as he made his way to the library.

Sasha had oh-so-kindly kept an eye on Jean during double Chemistry this morning, ‘free of charge’, but the results had been the same as Friday. Jean hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction, even when Marco was called on to explain something. He was quiet and sulky, and looked the same as he had for the last three years, as Sasha put it.

“I think you’re imagining things.” She had said. “Maybe the mundanely of life has finally gotten to you. What you need is a nice, new, _distraction._ Take your mind off things. Let off a little steam.”

Marco was inclined to agree with her. On all counts.

Problem was, ‘new distractions’ weren’t the easiest things to find in a small town like theirs, and even if he did know precisely where to look, school was riding his ass _hard_ right now. Bad enough, that he had to ditch his and Reiner’s weekly one-on-one this free period to work of his geography project. School had to come first.

He pushed the heavy door of the library open as quietly as he could, making sure to ease it closed behind him in much the same way. He walked through aisles and dotted desks, and made his way to his preferred table at the back of the room, next to the infrequently used music section, and as far away from the clacking of computer keys as possible.

When he passed by the last book shelf though, he saw it was already occupied by none other than his fellow geography suffer Armin. He was a welcome sight in all honesty, and Marco was just about ready to _bound_ over with grin, before he noticed who was sitting with him, head bent close to the blond’s as they quietly discussed whatever it was they were looking at in the book between them.

To Marco, there couldn’t be a more unlikely pair than Armin and Jean, and yet the sheer contentment and comfortableness of Jean’s persona – the like of which Marco had never seen in his admittedly short awareness of the man - said this was a common arrangement. That they were good friends.

It not so much blew his mind, as popped a section of it, before he took a deep breath and threw caution to the wind and approached them. Whatever weirdness was or was not happening during Thursday Calculus, he and Jean had made amends, so there was no real reason why he couldn’t sit with his friend too. Especially when he could really do with Armin’s help right now.

“Hey,” he whispered loudly with a smile, catching both their attention. Armin smiled instantly, looking pleased to see him. Jean, not so much. Marco kept his eyes on Armin, but he thought he saw Jean start out the corner of his eye when he realised it was Marco. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, making sure to meet both their eyes.

“Sure!” Armin replied, Jean taking his cue and nodding afterwards, both of them shifting the array of papers and books spread across the desk. “Let me guess,” he continued. “You’re here for Mr. Zacharius’ project, right?” he almost taunted, with a sly quirk of the lips.

“How’d you guess?” Marco huffed sarcastically, settling down and pulling everything out of his bag straight away. “Have you finished yours?”

“Just. Literally managed to get it done this morning during French.” Seeing Marco’s confused expression, he expanded. “We had a test and I finished early.” He shrugged, as if it was commonplace, which Marco suspected it might be. “Want a hand with yours? I found the penultimate section really tricky; I wouldn’t mind seeing what you think of it actually.”

“If you don’t mind.” Marco replied, smiling guiltily.

“It’s fine.” He assured. “Just let me-Oh!” Armin jounced as he turned back to Jean. “Sorry,” he laughed, gesturing to his friend. “this is Jean. Jean, this is Marco.”

Marco chuckled out of habit. “Actually, we have couple of classes together.”

“You two are friends?” Jean asked, looking more at Armin than Marco. He seemed as surprised at their friendship as Marco had been at Jean and Armin’s, though of course the former’s was concealed under a peculiar frown.

“Yeah,” Armin answered for them. “Marco and I have been Study Buddies since we were paired up in freshman Government and had a disagreement about ethics.”

“It must have been the politest argument ever!” Marco said, laughing fondly at the memory and how silly they must have looked at the time.

“Oh.” Marco looked to Jean to see him watching him with those same, disinterested eyes.

“What about you two?” He asked. “How long have you two been friends?”

“Oooh,” Armin falsely pondered, with a little smirk on his lips. “I dunno. Since I wasn’t ‘the creepy weirdo that followed Jaeger around like a lost puppy’ I think.”

Marco’s confusion only lasted the second it took for Jean’s cheeks to go red and for him to elbow Armin in the side.

“Take the piss all you want Arlert, but just because I know better now, doesn’t mean you didn’t look creepy as fuck back then. I stand by that statement.”

“So a while then.” Marco laughed, secretly enjoying the blush on Jean’s usually stoic face. Didn’t look quite as good as the first time he’d seen it, but it was infinitely better than the last.

“Yeah,” Armin laughed too. “Eren and Jean got into a fight the first day, and since then Jean and I have luckily had a lot of classes together. Took a while, but we’ve become pretty close, right?” Jean simply mumbled incoherently, which Marco took as embarrassed agreement. “Do you mind if we just finish this up before I help you Marco?” Armin asked, changing the subject rather quickly, and Marco suspected it was in part for Jean’s sake. “We’re nearly done anyway.”

“Of course.” Marco replied enthusiastically. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, and I’ve got a ways to go before I reach the tricky part!”

Armin smiled at him before looking back at the book, pointing out something with the tip of his pencil to Jean, who’s face was back to its usual, pale, stern self.

Marco turned to his own work, but couldn’t help letting his mind wander to the boy in front of him. So, he definitely wasn’t interested in Marco, or flirting, or trying to get his attention, or anything like that. As if he needed any more proof, then he got it sitting with him now. He was civil, but paid as little attention to him as possible; not the way someone acted when they liked you. In fact, Marco briefly considered whether he was a little interested in Armin. Their closeness was clear, and the teasing seemed natural in way that always looked flirtatious to Marco. And as far as he was concerned, it was certainly as flirtatious as he could see either Jean or Armin getting.

He didn’t know if he truly saw something between the two, but it did open another path of thinking for Marco. What if Jean _was_ flirting and showing off, but to someone else? He may catch Marco’s eye every time, but what if Marco got so lost in the way his back stretching caused ripples in his shirt, that he missed the look Jean gave to whoever he was trying to impress? A more inviting, or embarrassed look. Something more than the acknowledging glance he gave Marco every time he got caught staring.

It seemed possible. More so than his previous wild-stab-in-the-dark, at least. Maybe it was even Armin. Though Marco had bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing at the image. Probably not then. Though Marco couldn’t help but hope, just for the hilarity of it.

Maybe it could even be someone in his class; that would make Marco’s staring more obvious, and Jean’s reasons for glaring and staring respectively, clearer. Though, he didn’t think any of the window row in front of him would be to Jean’s taste. Not that he knew him that well, but there was a certain understanding you got when making out with someone. Sasha, though. Sasha was pretty, and attracted a lot of people to her. Maybe she left an impression when they were paired up for English, and Jean was trying to catch her eye.

He bit his lips as it was tugged into a smile. Poor Jean. Maybe after last week’s stunt, she’d pay him a bit more attention.

“Having fun there?” Marco looked up to see the other two watching him, Jean’s head cocked to the side and resting on his palm as he asked the question.

“Sorry,” Marco answered, letting his smile stretch this time. “Mind drifted a bit.”

“Hmm.” Jean acknowledged, still looking at him as if he was bored out of his skull.

“Man, I know that feeling.” Armin sighed. “Seriously can’t wait for Friday, and I don’t even drink!”

“Oh?” Marco queried. “What’re you up to Friday?”

“It’s Eren’s birthday- well, it’s his birthday on Thursday, but he’s having a party Friday night. Hey, you should come!”

Marco raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t even know Eren.”

“Pssh.” Armin dismissed. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not gonna be big like Christa’s, but he’s invited practically everyone he’s ever met.”

“It’s less of a birthday celebration, and more of an excuse to get shitfaced.” Jean added, still leaning on his hand.

“Yeah. Besides, you’re good friends with Reiner right? Eren’s gonna insist he comes, and you’re in with me,” Armin winked half-jokingly. “So you can definitely come! Bring the others too if you like, just so long as the Bathroom Massacre isn’t repeated – Eren doesn’t have cleaners.”

“Trust me,” Marco laughed. “I don’t think even Sasha’s up to risking that again.”

“It’s settled then!” Armin smiled, looking more excited than Marco can remember seeing him.

“You sure?” He double checked, glancing at Jean as well as Armin, as if it’s his party he’s been invited to. He gets a indifferent shrug in return, but for a second, he thinks he sees a glint in Jean’s eyes before Armin grabs Marco’s attention again.

“Absolutely! Now, how far have you got with the project?”

* * *

Eren’s party certainly wasn’t the best Marco had been to, but it was definitely the loudest. The bass of the speakers practically shook the whole house, and Marco didn’t know why there was so many guys shouting and screaming at each other like they were going to war, but they all did it with a smile on their face, so he guessed it wasn’t a problem. Just very noisy.

Eren’s party also had the added bonus of Timothy – ‘not Tim’ – who was a tall, very slim blond, with a pointy nose and pretty eyes, and who was blissfully uncomplicated. He was from a high school the next town over, a friend of a friend invited he and his recently ex-boyfriend, and he’d come along in the spirit of spite and glorious rebound. His boyfriend hadn’t turned up – ‘chickened out more like’ – so he was feeling very proud of himself and confident.

He talked a lot.

But Marco liked that, because Marco liked to listen, and it meant they had to sit close with their legs tangled, and hands stroking down the outside of thighs, and noses brushing cheeks, and lips fluttering over ears when everything got turned up, unbelievably, another notch for a moment or two. It was all very pleasant, nice, promising, and straightforward in ways Marco used to know, but had recently forgotten the ease of.

So unlike his last hook-up.

That Monday in the library, Marco had thought he’d figured a little bit of the Jean enigma out. It sort of made sense that he had the hots for Sasha – more than it made sense for him to have any inclination for Marco, given what had happened – and it was inevitable Marco got caught in the crossfire since they were so close. Jean had found out that Sasha liked to watch his class work out, and wanted to show off but noticed Marco would be watching too; his lingering resentment and internalised homophobia made him glower at Marco every time he spotted him during his opportunity to impress Sasha, until he had some kind of self-discovery at Christa’s that allowed them to find a truce, and thus he no longer tried to kill Marco with his eyes. So he finally resumed with his plan of wooing Sasha, but still acknowledged Marco’s staring, because it was insistent and a bit awkward. That’s why he never bothered with Marco outside of those moments, and why Sasha didn’t notice anything odd, because apparently, Jean Kirstein could be subtle too. Sometimes.

It was kind of sweet, Marco thought. In that very awkward, _Jean_ way.

He had contemplated putting a word in for him with Sasha. There wasn’t a lot to go on to be fair, but though the memory had faded, he’d been pretty sure Jean was a decent kisser. That probably wasn’t enough to win Sasha over, but he felt like helping the poor kid out.

That was, until yesterday.

Yesterday, when it had been the last ten minutes of Calculus and Marco had watched the Phys Ed boys walk back inside to change. When he almost immediately caught the sight of Jean’s bare, surprisingly defined, sweaty abs as he lifted his t-shirt to wipe the sweat of his face. When he swallowed hard and swore breathlessly, eyes slowly trailing up that flat stomach and smooth chest, over the bunched t-shirt, and met Jean’s seemingly apathetic stare. And held it. Held it whilst Jean walked all the way back to entrance, and until the window ledge cut through their gaze.

Jean hadn’t tried to look at anyone else. He may not have looked particularly inviting, but he didn’t look uncomfortable with Marco’s staring. He watched Marco pointedly, but not heatedly. And so Marco was back to square one. Well, not quite, considering square one was hot grasps and slick lips in a cramped closet. But he was definitely back to the What The Fuck Is Happening stage. His position there fully cemented when today passed like every other, in which Jean acted like Marco didn’t exist.

Uncertain as he was, Marco hadn’t been sure about still coming to the party; worried he’d be greeted at the door by Jean, or forced into some other awkward confrontation. But Connie had been eager to attend, and Armin had been talking about it all week, so he showed up, and had thus far been rewarded with a Jean-less, Timothy-ful experience.

He appreciated the change.

“So,” Timothy continued, sinking further into the ratty couch they sat on as Marco trailed fingertips up and down the back of his knee. “What about you? Any current or ex-boyfriends giving you grief?” he asked, taking another generous sip of his beer.

Marco chuckled and briefly glanced around the small, buzzing kitchen they were in. Everything and everyone was a mishmash at this party, but it was comfortable. “Actually, I have no boyfriends to speak off. Past or present.”

Timothy sat upright, sceptical frown marring his pale, delicate face. “You’re kidding. There’s no way. You must be one of the biggest catches in this tiny pond.” His frowned deepened as he looked Marco up and down. “You’re not recently out, are you? A newbie?” One incredulous eyebrow rose higher than the other. “You don’t _act_ like a virgin.”

Marco frowned too, Timothy’s condemnatory tone rubbing him the wrong way. He didn’t like it when people judged others over such frivolous concepts, but he supposed he didn’t need to be in total agreement with a casual hook-up.

“No. I’ve had a few flings and fun.” He answered with a slightly forced smile, though it became more natural as he continued to talk. “I’ve never really wanted a relationship to be honest. Not that it’s been offered a lot, to be fair! Maybe a couple of times?”

“Really?” he asked, moving his fingers over Marco’s arm flirtingly. “Another time and place, and I wouldn’t take no for an answer Marco!”

They both laughed until a sharp thud caught Marco’s attention as someone slammed their bottle of beer down on the high counter in front of him and Timothy.

“Y’know, the first time a boy asked me out...” Timothy regaled, and Marco only half listened as his eyes trailed up the arm of the guy who’d slammed his bottle down. He jolted as he came to a familiar undercut, and watched unnerved as Jean helped himself to the bowl of chips, keeping his tense back them.

Marco wondered if his luck had run out, or if Jean would head back the way he came without spotting him.

“I went out with him of course,” Timothy continued, seemingly oblivious to Marco’s reaction. “At the time, I never thought I’d be able to date another guy…” Marco tried to get involved in the story, tried to pay attention and at least look like he was engaged in case Jean turned around, but he was distracted. Jean was dressed up again, more so than he was at Christa’s even. He was wearing those same, dark blue jeans and his hair was styled again, but this time it was all accompanied by a dark grey, jersey top that sagged teasingly at his neck and shoulders, but was fitted around the waist and chest, allowing Marco see the vague curves of his toned back.

Marco distantly wondered if Jean was going to peer over his shoulder and catch him staring again. Thankfully, he had enough presence of mind to notice Jean’s body turning around, and faced Timothy with a casual sip of his own drink.

He wasn’t really paying attention to anything other than the effort it took to _not_ look back at Jean, when Timothy snapped. “Can we help you?”

Marco followed his annoyed gaze to see an unmoved Jean watching them disinterestedly, eating from a pile of chips in his hand. He rose an eyebrow questioningly at Timothy’s accusation, but didn’t seem inclined to further answer.

“Timmy!” Someone yelled just as the blond went to speak again, and they all turned to watch a guy drunkenly trip into the room, pressing his phone into his cheek so hard it squished his face so much his already slurred words came out barely distinguishable. “Kazzz ‘n phone. ‘nts’ t’talk t’you.”

Timothy sighed before leaning forward to put his drink on the table, and then leaning into Marco with an apologetic smile and a pat on the chest. “I’ll be right back.” He quietly promised, before untangling himself and going over to his friend, shouting “Don’t call me that!”

Once they left, an awkward silence descended, despite the constant thrumming of music and loudness of the cramped room. Marco took a nervous sip of his drink, before daring to look at Jean again.

He looked bored.

“You’ve got an eclectic taste in men, y’know that?” Jean asked, surprisingly starting the conversation. Marco started to laugh, before what Jean said next stilted his humour. “Or do you just take what you can get?”

Marco sighed, maybe even groaned, as he sat up and put his drink down before leaning his elbows on his knees and rubbing his hands through his hair in frustration.

“What do you want Jean?” He asked, deciding to get straight the point, and meaning it on so many levels.

There was a long pause before Jean answered.

“A lot of things, I guess.” Marco looked up, somewhat surprised he got an answer at all, never mind an honest sounding one. He watched as Jean finished the last chip, and brushed his hands over his jeans, that really were distractingly tight. “But what I want most right now, is to get off.”

Marco embarrassingly chocked on his own spit and stared at Jean wide-eyed. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down on Marco with such an indifferent stare. _How could he be so serious all the goddamn time?_

“So,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just short-circuited Marco’s brain. “If _Timmy,”_ he almost sneered. “gets _tedious,_ come find me.” He finished, pushing himself on the counter with his hips and started to walk away.

“And you want _me?!”_ Marco spluttered, more lost now than he’d ever been.

Jean flinched before he turned back around, and looked at Marco without the slightest hint of what he was suggesting. He shrugged half-heartedly.

_Want,_ seemed the message, _was a strong word._

Jean didn’t try to walk away again, and simply looked at Marco as if he knew Marco was already, stupidly, considering it. And it was stupid. It was _so stupid_ , because they’d done this before, and it caused a bigger, nastier headache, than the hangover the next day had. And there was Timothy. Pretty Timothy, who was a bit stuck-up, but was rebounding and simple, and at this point, pretty much a sure thing.

But then there was Jean. Confusing, occasionally infuriating Jean, who was perhaps not the best company, but was so fucking hot, and Marco knew _exactly_ how hot. Had been given glimpses of it for weeks, in some weird game Marco wasn’t sure either of them were actually playing. Marco might even get some answers if he went with Jean.

But it was a bad idea.

It was _such a bad idea_.

No amount of answers, or intoxicating kisses, or material stretched taut over thick, glorious asses, was worth going through that chaos again. It wasn’t.

But Marco was curious, and _so thirsty_ , and wasn’t youth meant to made up of bittersweet mistakes?

He knocked back the rest of his drink and stood up.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Unlike the last time, plenty of people saw he and Jean walk around together and head upstairs, but it wasn’t like they would be able to tell _why_ they were doing it. Still, Marco was mildly surprised at the lack of paranoid caution on Jean’s end.

Despite the fact there was roughly a dozen people crowding the stairs, the upper floor was dark and quiet, and it looked as if there been some ban enforced at some point. He followed Jean quietly as he walked down the unlit hallway and casually opened the last door on the right as if he lived in this house himself. Then again, he seemed close to Eren, so maybe he spent a lot of time here.

Marco had roughly five seconds after he stepped through the door to register that he was in someone’s bedroom and that the door was being locked, before Jean tugged on his shirt and pulled Marco to him, and he revelled in pushing Jean into the wall with his entire body. Their lips met instantly, and Marco felt a thrill down his back at doing this again, being fully pressed against Jean again.

He kept his hands on Jean’s sides, still wary of how skittish Jean could be, but he deepened the kiss eagerly as Jean tilted his head and pulled Marco impossibly closer. Marco had been right, Jean was a good kisser, and he tried to tell him that with every moan Jean’s tongue coaxed out of him.

He squeezed his sides, before slipping his hands round to the other’s back, Jean arching into him instinctively so Marco could fit between his warm body and the hard wall. He pulled back to suck on Jean’s lower lip when he moaned at the movement of Marco’s roaming hands. He kept it above board, gliding over his shoulders blades and the insane dip of his lower back, knowing Jean was still new to this. Another gasp and he chose to let go of his mouth altogether, moving his kisses down a pointy chin and along a sharp jaw that felt so good between his lips, he actually felt himself _twitch._ He was rewarded with soft pants and brittle moans, and Marco tried to push into Jean even further, needing to feel their firm bodies slot together.

“Did you like that guy?” was whispered in his ear, and Marco shudder at the sound and feel of it.

“What guy?” he mumbled against Jean’s skin, clumsily moving his own jaw against Jean’s to make him tilt his head further back. He trailed his kisses over the hinge and mouthed at the soft flesh underneath, moaning at the way it pressed back against him with Jean’s hard swallow.

“Tim.” Jean gasped as he licked over his pulse point, so Marco gave a quick suck to the skin there and marvelled at the shaky whine it produced.

“Not really.” He answered hastily, stretching his mouth over that same patch of skin, and sucked it slow and hard, moving his hands to grasp Jean’s hips as his body quivered and his hands gripped at Marco’s shoulders.

“What,” Jean breathed, keening as Marco released his skin with a sharp _pop._ “What about Christsa’s?” Marco hummed questioningly as his kissed down Jean’s arched and bobbing neck. “D-did you get off with Farlan?”

Marco frowned and finally pulled back to look at Jean suspiciously. It was a long time ago, and there had been significantly more alcohol involved, but Marco was pretty sure that Jean was moving approximately 20 per cent less, and talking a good 130 per cent more than he had the last time. And none of it made any sense. But then, when did Jean ever?

He was briefly distracted by the way Jean looked up at him. Naturally, none of the lights had been turned on, but the full moon shone through the open curtains brightly enough that Marco could see the way Jean panted and his cheeks flushed. He could even just about make out the red mark he’d just left on Jean’s shadowed neck, and see how big his pupils were; endlessly dark in this light.

Before he could question Jean’s inquisition though, a loudly knocking sounded on the door next to them, and they jumped as a voice shouted through.

“You’re in there, right Jean?” A woman asked, rattling the handle as she tried to get in. Marco had a distinct sense of déjà vu. “You better not be jerking off with my underwear, you creep.” There was silence as she seemed to wait for a reply, but it didn’t look like Jean was going to give one. He was holding himself perfectly still, watching the door with wide eyes, and Marco swore he could feel Jean’s heart pound with their chests pressed together like this. “Whatever.” She finally said. “But if I find out you are, I’m skinning you alive.” They listened as she walked away, and Jean sighed once a full 30 seconds of silence passed.

“Is that something you’re known for, or…?” Marco teased, and his own heartbeat sped up when Jean let out a short, nervous chuckle.

“No,” he scoffed. “‘s just Mikasa. I used to have a crush on her, and now she thinks the worst of me.”

“Really?” Marco laughed quietly, purposefully ignoring the way his body buzzed at their close conversation. “That’s kind of an extreme reaction to a crush.”

“Well,” Jean looked down and released one of Marco’s shoulders to run a hand through his hair. “It was, an _embarrassing_ crush.”

Marco laughed again, watching as Jean looked back up at him and smoothed his hand over Marco’s chest to place it back at the slope where his neck moved into his shoulder. He blamed the single beer and thrill of the moment for allowing the words, “I bet you’re cute when you’re crushing.” To be whispered through his smiling lips.

As Jean’s blush darkened and his eyes darted away, Marco looked over his shoulder at the silver outlines of Mikasa’s room, keen to change the subject.

“So this is her room huh?” He looked at Jean from the corner of his eye with a smirk. “Why do I get the feeling I’m playing stand-in for a debauched fantasy of yours?” He smiled at another of Jean’s huffed laughs, and faced him again, placing a quick kiss on the other side of his jaw.

“Hardly.” One kiss didn’t feel enough, so Marco gave another. And another. All in a line up to his raised chin. “It’s just Eren’s room is a constant health hazard.” Jean explained, and Marco began to pick up where he left off, gripping and holding Jean’s hips in a pulsing rhythm, running his thumbs back and forth, itching to sneak his hands up the soft material. “Besides,” he whispered, getting short of breath all over again, and gulping like he hadn’t drunk in years. “‘S’not like you’d care if that was true anyway, right?”

Marco tensed.

Why did this always happen? Why was it, that whenever they settled into anything _near_ comfortable, Jean had to jerk them back with a snide remark or distained glance?

He pulled away, again, and stared Jean in the eye. He didn’t look the slightest bit concerned about what he just said, or Marco’s clear reaction.

“Contrary to what you seem to think, I have some dignity.” At Jean’s soft, derisive grunt, Marco was ready to walk to fuck out. It’d take effort, to remove his hands and step out of Jean’s warmth, but he would do it. One more, _tiny_ thing, and has was gone. “I don’t mind being a pair of hands or a warm body, but if you’re going to be thinking of someone else entirely, we’re stopping here.”

Jean frowned a little, and his fingers clenched around Marco’s shoulders. “I’m not.” He mumbled. “I won’t.”

“Really? ‘Cause I’m thinking there might be more truth to Mikasa’s words.”

“I don’t like her like that!” Jean replied sharply, frowning at Marco with a familiar distaste, before it softened and his gaze fell. Marco simply watched, knowing there was more to come, but wary of what it might be. It took a while, but Jean swallowed harshly and glanced up at Marco with a conflicted expression. It was the most vulnerable he’d seen him, and Marco was startled by it and even more so at the sound of the soft confession that followed. “You _know_ I don’t like her.”

Marco couldn’t help but stare, the weight of those words holding him in place as Jean glanced away again with a wince. He had to tread carefully with his own response. Maybe try and find some humour to ease Jean back into the moment. But it was hard. It was hard not to gape at the difference between now and _then;_ hard not to ask stupid questions; hard not to just lean back in and kiss that unease away.

Ironically, Marco had never been ‘come out’ to.

It took a few swallows himself, to find his voice again.

“I thought you weren’t gay.” Marco said softly, reiterating the first words he ever remembered Jean saying to him.

He got a self-deprecating snort and a brief squeeze on his shoulders as a response.

So maybe those ‘straight boys’ really did know, deep down, how ridiculous they were when they said things like that. The initial defiance seemed so prolific that Marco had begun to wonder.

“I’m not even bi.” Jean mumbled, the higher pitch to it told Marco that Jean was mocking himself, trying to find that humour too. He brushed his nose along Jean’s before kissing it softly, holding him a little tighter. Jean’s hands twitched against his neck.

“Don’t you like the way girls _bounce_ though?” Marco teased, and finally he got a quiet laugh, Jean raising his head and meeting his gaze. Their noses brushed again, but Marco kept close and let their foreheads rest against each other as Jean smirked a little.

“Actually, there- ” he cut himself short, seeming to realise something before he chuckled breathlessly and smiled modestly at Marco. “I was going to say, _actually, there’s something to be said for straining muscles_ ,” Marco laughed, recognising his own words. “But then I remembered Mikasa has like, a 12-pack, and it lost all meaning.”

He laughed harder as he pulled himself a little closer to Jean, looking into his bright eyes and watching them flit to his lips.

“I guess that’s why you liked her then.” Marco smirked, leaning in and meeting Jean’s own smiling lips. The kiss was gentle, a long press of lip between lip, before they pulled a breath away only to repeat the feeling. Each touch lingered for longer, until press became slide, and lip became tongue, and they melted back into their rhythm and each other.

As breath turned short, Marco trailed sloppy kisses down Jean’s cheek and over his jaw, determined to find that sensitive spot again, wanting to make Jean feel good as much as he wanted to hear those sounds again.

“What about me?” Jean asked breathlessly, his hands cradling Marco’s neck and occasionally running through his hair.

“Hmm?” he grunted against his hot skin, unable to stop himself from pushing back into Jean’s body in anticipation.

“Am I playing substitute?” It took a while for Marco to get what Jean meant; that he was picking up a long dropped topic. He couldn’t help laughing against his neck, finding it physically impossible to remove his mouth from Jean’s soft skin.

“For _who?”_ Marco laughed, a tad disbelievingly. “Don’t you own a mirror?”

“You think I’m hot?” Jean whispered against his ear, the purposeful husk to it sending a ripple down Marco’s entire body.

“You’re really fucking hot.” He growled, finally pushing his hand’s under Jean’s shirt and running his palms over his tensing abs, his sides, his shoulder blades, and dragging down his back.

Jean gasped at the touch, his body arching into Marco’s as the large hands moved softly and surely down his spine. Marco took the opportunity to suck at that spot again, and Jean moaned obscenely, pulling Marco to him with a hard grip in his hair. Their bodies rocked against each other, and Marco could feel the point of no return looming. He was getting hard, getting lost in the sight, the sound, the smell, the taste of Jean. He couldn’t keep his hands still, his hips were beginning to roll against the other’s, and Jean’s body was holding him so close that Marco was sure that if they didn’t stop now, they never would.

But this is what Jean wanted, right? He told Marco he just wanted to get off, so it was fine if they tipped over that edge; that was always the intention. So he let the moment slip into the next, that line getting rapidly closer, and let his body move against Jean’s, let his groans answer every one of the other’s, and sunk into the delirious depths of the heat they were creating.

Jean’s hands slipped up his neck and held Marco’s jaw and face, encouraging him to move up from his throat and back to his lips. And that’s when Marco noticed it. He probably should have before, but it was then, with those palms pressed against his skin and those long finger’s spread along his cheeks and brushing his ears, that he felt the tiny tremors going through them. Felt those hands gently shake.

He was shaking the last time too, but what was building between them now wasn’t just soothing touches of skin and deep kisses. Marco was on the brink of slipping his hands down the back of Jean’s jeans, and grabbing that full ass he couldn’t stop think about. It was all he could do not to rut against Jean’s hip, against that hardness he could feel pressing against his own thigh. He wanted to place a thousand kisses on every patch of skin, suck patterns into the pale smoothness, and do everything short of _devouring_ him.

But Jean had just admitted something huge for the first time, maybe even to himself, and maybe he was running on adrenaline, maybe he was scared of pushing away the first person to accept and welcome him for who he was. It was natural to be little nervous – Marco own heart was beating erratically strong – but the way Jean’s hands were shaking against him felt wrong. It felt like he was caught in two minds, like he wasn’t sure this was what he wanted. Marco didn’t want him to feel like that.

He stilled his body, though kept it pressed lightly against Jean’s, and held the other’s hips in a sure but gentle grasp. He pulled his face back slightly and caught Jean’s gaze, raising one hand to rest on Jean’s wrist, rubbing his thumb along the back of his hand just once.

The way that arm jolted at the touch didn’t make him feel any better.

“You ok?” Marco whispered, keeping his entire body steady but open, hoping his expression coerced Jean into being honest with him for once.

The way Jean frowned and slipped into that practiced, disinterested face told him he was hoping against hope.

“Fine.” He mumbled, trying to pull Marco back in for a kiss. He resisted, but at the sudden tension it caused in Jean’s body, he leant in himself and pecked him on the lips. He eased a little bit, but Marco could tell he was walking a fine line; the slightest mistake in what he said or did next, and Jean would bolt, never speak to him again, blow up in his face; it was hard to guess what Jean would do, but Marco knew it would be unpleasantly irrevocable.

And that desperation, that be all and end all that Jean exuded wasn’t good. It reinforced Marco’s concern about the situation; that he shouldn’t be doing this with Jean, not like this.

“You’re shaking.” He kept his voice low and turned his face slightly kiss at the heel of Jean’s palm. The hand twitched. “We can stop. Talk for a bit. Kiss a little, maybe.” Marco moved both his thumbs in soothing circles, one on Jean’s hand, the other on his clothed hip. Not encouraging or enticing, but calming.

For a second it looked like Jean was going to argue, deny the very obvious trembling of his hands and spew heated words in defence. He looked like he was going to close himself off again. But the moment passed, and his hands slipped down to Marco’s neck again.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked unsure, looking nervous and conflicted. Marco wasn’t sure how to answer, aware that what he said looked like it might sway Jean’s own decision. Honestly, he didn’t want to stop, but he didn’t want to continue like this either.

“I don’t want you to be scared.” Jean watched him sceptically before sighing and moving his own thumbs in circles on Marco’s skin. It eased Marco, that Jean felt comfortable enough to do that.

“I’m not scared.” He whispered, though he looked embarrassed about it. “M’just nervous. I’ve not…” he looked away and his fingers flinched in embarrassment, though they quickly soothed back over Marco’s skin. “I’ve not done this before.”

“I know.” Marco was quick to whisper back, placing a short kiss on Jean’s cheek in reassurance. “And that’s ok. But don’t you want to do it,” _somewhere else? With someone different?_ “another time?”

Jean looked back at him, and Marco could just see the way his eyes moved along his face. There was a peculiar frown on his forehead, and he seemed to be trying to figure something about Marco out. As always, Marco couldn’t even imagine what that might be.

“I don’t care about things like that.” Jean met his eyes again, and he sounded honest enough. “I told you before what I wanted.” In a spur of bravery Marco wasn’t expecting, Jean rolled his hips against him, and it took his breath away. “You don’t have to. But that’s why I brought you up here. I-I’m allowed to be nervous.”

Marco smiled as he leant in.

“Yes, you are.” He softly kissed Jean’s lips, only briefly, and repeated the action again and again as he eased his body back into Jean’s, holding both his hips again pulling them together. Jean’s fingers thread through his hair, and just as his tongue ran across Marco’s lips, another thought occurred to him. “How much have you had to drink?”

Jean pulled back and looked away again. Marco felt like he was about to be lied to.

When he looked back, there was a blush on Jean’s cheeks and he was fiddling nervously with the longer strands of Marco’s hair. “Half a beer. If that.”

Marco shifted, the image of the half-full bottle being slammed down on the counter popped into his mind, and he looked at Jean’s sheepish expression surprised. Marco realised then why. It was Jean’s last defensive, wasn’t it? He may have already admitted something huge, but Jean was still excessively defensive by nature. If something went wrong, if he did something embarrassing or changed his mind, he still had the pretence of alcohol to hide behind.

He didn’t now.

And Marco had never felt the surge of protectiveness that hit him in that moment before.

He kissed that unease away, and slid his hands back underneath Jean’s shirt, smoothing over his skin and loving the way the muscles underneath fluttered at his touch.

“There’s no script y’know.” He said with a parting kiss to Jean’s lips, moving back the other side of his neck, hoping to reignite that heat. “You just do what you want, and I’ll let you know if I like it or not. Vice versa.”

“That’s what’s unnerving though, isn’t it?”He whispered against Marco’s jaw. “What if I do something so weird it makes you want to stop?”

“There’s nothing you could do that would make me walk out on you.”

_“Really?”_

“Why are you saying that like I just issued you a challenge?!” Jean laughed freely, and it made Marco’s entire body throb. It made him kiss his neck harder, hold him closer, made him burry his face just underneath Jean’s ear so he wouldn’t be able to see the way it made Marco blush and smile.

Jean gasped at the particularly hard suck, and this time there was no hesitation in the way his hips jerked into Marco’s thigh or how his nails lightly dragged from his scalp and down his back. Marco shuddered and pressed back with greedy whine, and there was definitely no turning back now.

He latched on to Jean’s lips again, tongues instantly meeting, as he moved his hands to lay flat against Jean’s abdomen and moved them up firmly, feeling the way his torso practically _rolled_ as each muscle contracted when his hot palms touched them.

Marco broke the kiss with an appreciative hum as his fingers slipped over Jean’s sharp collarbones. “Can I take this off?” he flexed his wrists, indicating to the top that was bunched across them. It took a second, but Jean nodded and lifted his arms, Marco eagerly pulling it off him and wasting no time in putting his hands back on him.

His fingertips traced every rise and dip, ghosting over protruding bone and pressing into taut muscles. He caught a decent glimpse of Jean’s stomach yesterday, but he hadn’t been prepared for how _gorgeous_ he looked bared and up close. Marco swallowed harshly, trying to remind himself how to breath properly, as he rubbed his thumbs over Jean’s nipples and trailed the backs of his hands down the flexing stomach, until denim met his skin and he slid his hands up Jean’s sides to repeat the process.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Marco breathed, leaning in and sucking kisses into Jean’s shoulder. He couldn’t keep his hands still, couldn’t take his eyes off the heaving body in front of him.

Jean moaned and gasped, and shook for entirely different reasons now, undulating his hips against Marco’s thigh in an effort to relieve some of those reasons, and driving Marco slightly mad. An unexpected, tentative lick to the curve of his ear sent a convulsing shiver down his spine, and Marco was about thirty seconds away from rutting Jean into the wall.

“Hey,” Marco managed to pull back enough to look at Jean’s face, and was rewarded with a quick kiss. “Can I…?” Jean bit his lip and skimmed his fingers along the hem of his t-shirt. Marco smiled as he nodded, and expected Jean to start pulling the material up but instead, he just slipped his hands underneath and shakily inhaled as his skin touched Marco’s.

He kind of wanted to get back to exploring Jean’s own body; lay wet kisses over every inch and see how many chocked off sounds he could compel from him. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jean’s blushing face, the way his eyelashes were fluttering as he stared at where his hands had disappeared; those fingers still trembling as they flittered over the tensing muscles of Marco’s stomach. He was struck again with how enticing Jean could look.

“Want me to take it off?” He whispered, hands stroking up and down Jean’s sides as the latter looked up at him surprisingly shyly. A single, red nod, and Marco made a show of grabbing the bottom of his tee and pulling it up over his head with a slow roll of his torso. He heard a stuttered gasp before he’d managed to get it all the way off, and once he’d dropped it to the floor with the other’s, he could only watch as Jean hesitantly raised his hands and pressed his palms flat against Marco’s chest, slowly, lightly moving them down his front with thinly veiled reverence and shivers shooting along his arms and down his spine.

Marco swallowed and leant forward to press against them, kissing Jean’s lips as he did so and catching the sharp inhale before they melted back into each other with what was quickly becoming a familiar rhythm.

He ran his fingers over the waist of Jean’s hugging jeans, not asking or pushing, but testing the waters, loving the way it made Jean’s hips snap a little harder and the hum he let out into their kiss every time. With another teasing brush against the line of denim and skin, Marco moved his hands down Jean’s covered thighs, palming at the muscle and risking sliding his hands firmly up the backs of them, long fingers just reaching the insides, and managed to drag them back over the sides and to Jean’s hips before even a ghost of a touch reached his behind.

Jean shook at the attention, those firm muscles quivering, and he ran his own fingers daringly over the band of Marco’s jeans, teasing him right back. Marco moaned at the attention, and the other’s reaction, nibbling on Jean’s bottom lip before meeting his tongue in a deep kiss. When he moved his hands again, they slid around his covered hips and over the generous swell of his ass, _finally._ When the soft touch brought nothing but a muffled high whine, and Jean pulling him closer by his belt loops, Marco grunted and grabbed, nails snagging against the tough material. Jean broke the kiss with a broken cruse, his hips stuttering forward and _back._ Marco whispered breathless appreciation into his ear, his dick twitching at the feeling in his palms, and he slowly slid his pressing grip up, unable to resist letting the very tips of his fingers brush along the dip of that middle seem, both he and Jean shuddering at the touch.

Marco pulled away from spit-slick lips, eyes fluttering half open and watching Jean do the same, dazed and beautifully turned on. He peppered short kisses on those swollen lips as he let his finger dip underneath Jean’s waistband, and slid it along the skin there. He pulled back again when Jean laughed nervously at the movement, but instead of pushing Marco away, he kept his own hands moving across Marco’s lower abdomen and flicked quick, embarrassed glances up at him, before leaning forward and placing a couple of kisses on chest.

“So,” he mumbled against the skin, before falling back into the wall, cheeks even redder than before. “do guys, like, care about dicks?” There was that nervous laugh again, maybe it was a little self-deprecating too, but none of that made the question any clearer to Marco.

“Um. What?”

“Like,” another quick glance up and a distracting rub of his fingers. “Do, do gay guys care about size ‘n’ shit? Or how it, like, looks.”

Marco laughed, and placed a brief kiss on Jean’s lips so he wouldn’t be offended. “I dunno. Do _you_ care?”

Jean scoffed, but his blush flared. “No. I dunno. I’ve not…”

When he didn’t expand, Marco figured he still needed a straightforward answer. Funny as it seemed to Marco, Jean looked pretty anxious about it.

“Well. I don’t know about other guys, but stuff like that doesn’t really bother me. I mean, some dicks look better, some dicks work better. But a dicks still a dick, and they’re all pretty hot to me.”

Jean snorted and looked up at Marco with what he would call fond exasperation. Simultaneously very Jean, and very un-Jean like.

“You don’t have to be self-conscious about that stuff, y’know? Especially not with me.”

“I don’t know about that.” Was Jean’s quick, mumbled response, his eyes firmly on his fingers trailing the scarce line of hair up to Marco’s navel, and defiantly not at Marco himself.

“I mean it. And we don’t have to, go any further. If you don’t want to. We can do it like this.” He held Jean’s hips as gave a firm roll into hardness, Jean’s hands instantly gripping Marco’s jeans and pulling him closer with a stuttered sigh.

“G-gross.” The way Jean tilted his head back and pushed into him though, meant Marco could only assume he thought the idea was _gross_ because they’d have to rejoin the party and spend the rest of the night with damn, come stained jeans.

Marco was about to suggest they could stop all together, if Jean wasn’t comfortable with either of those things, when his breath caught as Jean undid the button of Marco’s pants.

“It’s fine.” He whispered, kissing Marco quickly before watching himself pull down the straining zipper. “Just don’t laugh, yeah?”

Marco had meant to give a disgruntled sigh, but it came out more like breathy relief as his cock was given more room to tent in his boxers. He noticed Jean’s hands still, but he was more interested in getting his jeans open too, so he kept his eyes on Jean’s face as he slowly reached for the button and tugged them open with no resistance from him. He was more careful with handling the zipper, extremely aware of how tight the pants were, and how Jean jolted with the direct brush of his hand against the bulge in his jeans.

He eased the flaps open, and released his own shaky breath when he saw the unmistakable curve in the red – _is that his favourite colour or something?_ – boxer-briefs. The jeans were so tight that he was still trapped down to the side, but Marco didn’t think it was a smart move to just shove his hand in and pull him free.

He looked up at Jean, who’s eyes were wide, and his bottom lip had completely disappeared between his teeth. His eyes kept flicking between Marco’s face and the tent in his black underwear, so he leant forward and licked underneath his top lip, whispering against his mouth when Jean’s bottom lip sprung back against his with a gasp.

“Do whatever you want.” He reminded, kissing and leaning into him again.

“Y-you too, then.” And then Jean’s hands were on him, feeling him out through the thin material, and it sent a shock wave through his body. He groaned and rested his head between Jean’s neck and shoulder, watching Jean’s hands and his own as his fingers grazed over the sides of Jean’s open fly and tentatively touched the taut muscle underneath the soft cotton.

Jean’s hips jerked and whatever noise he’d just made was intoxicating to Marco. Gently, and ever so slowly, he wrapped his hand around Jean’s covered length and eased it up and out, and he swore he could feel it pulsating in his hand.

_Fuck._

“J-Jesus.” Jean breathed, bucking into Marcos touch and suddenly pawing at the elastic of Marco’s boxers, pulling it carefully over, and harshly down, his jeans inching down with them. Marco gasped when the cold air hit him, and bit off an embarrassingly high keen when Jean’s fingers lightly traced over the soft skin. The innocence of the touch sent Marco reeling, and the whimper Jean made when Marco’s cock jerked in search for more of that feeling, made his knees weak.

He slipped his fingers under the red band, and pulled Jean’s underwear down considerably slower than Jean had, allowing time for him to change his mind. He swallowed when the weeping head of Jean’s cock was revealed, and couldn’t help rolling his hips into Jean’s loose hands when he moved the boxer-briefs out of the way entirely.

He was long. The head just reaching Jean’s bellybutton as it lay practically flat against his stomach, flushed a deep pink and already leaking pre-come. Marco moaned as he move his palm over the heated flesh, his other arm wrapping around Jean’s waist as he shook, so sensitive Marco wasn’t sure how either of them were meant to last long enough to wrap their hands around each other.

“You’ve got some strange expectations, y’know that?” Marco murmured, thumb stroking over Jean’s tip and smearing through the pre-come. “Probably a sign that you should watch less porn.”

“Shut up.” He rasped, finally curling his fingers around Marco’s dick and giving him a loose stroke. “Stop talking.”

Marco wanted to point out that he wasn’t the one who started this conversation, and in fact hadn’t initiated any talking between them, but the tug on his hair and the second tongue in his mouth made that impossible.

They started with slow and gentle tugs, testing the waters between them, but soon enough their grips got tighter and faster, eager to get off and feel that rush. Deep kisses turned into sloppy mouthing at necks, neither of them able of concentrate on anything but their hands and dicks, finding extra sensitive spots and drowning in the quiet and cut off sounds they drew from each other. Jean was more enthusiastic than Marco had, for some reason, thought he would be. He couldn’t keep his hips still, his hand moved sure and quick, and as soon as he found a weakness, he played it mercilessly, reducing Marco into a whining, quivering mess. When he slipped his other hand under Marco’s clothes and around his thigh to grip his ass, Marco was reminded of where his own hand was splayed against the small of Jean’s back, and took it as a green light to delve deeper.

It took a lot more fumbling and struggling to get his hand down those skin tight jeans, Marco chuckling breathily into Jean’s neck the whole time, but eventually he managed it and held Jean tighter with his arm as he stroked over the smooth skin before grabbing and _holding_ the soft flesh. He sucked hard at the sweaty skin of Jean’s neck as he did so, muffling his moan while Jean’s sharp gasp seemed to echo around the room. Jean’s grip tightened and he pulled Marco closer, thrusting into his fist harder and making their hands knock against each other clumsily.

It gave Marco an idea.

“Hey,” he pulled his face back slightly, looking at Jean’s dazed expression, the barest hint of confusion amidst the pleasured and needy haze. “Le’go a sec. Wanna try som’in’.” He moved his hand away from Jean’s twitching cock, and lightly tapped the one wrapped around his own dick. It seemed like a difficult task for Jean, because it took a long moment for him uncurl his fingers and move away, dangling his hand awkwardly to the side.

Marco took a deep, shaky breath before shuffling and moving closer, gripping the full cheek in his hand tighter as pushed his bare hips into Jean’s, their cocks sliding against each other once, twice, before Marco wrapped his hand around both of them and jerked them together, slowly at first.

The strained moan Jean let out made Marco sink his teeth into his shoulder, and instantly he was bucking sharply into Marco’s hand and cock, and-

_Fuck. That’s it. That’s it!_

They thrust hard against each other, Jean’s hand curling tight around them too, and Marco couldn’t remember the last time something felt as good as this. He sucked a deep bruise into the slope where Jean’s neck met his shoulder, panting and red faced from exertion and want. Jean had thrown all caution and defences aside, letting his voice and sharp breaths surround them, and getting lost in the heat between them and unable – unwilling – to claw himself back out.

“ _Marco_ ” he keened, and Marco’s cock registered before he did that that was the first time Jean had ever said his name, jerking and leaking, swelling even more, and he was so close. _So close_.

“‘m gonna come.” Jean stuttered, knocking his head against Marco’s and his hips moving even more erratically.

“Come.” Marco dragged his mouth up his skin and whispered against his ear. “Come.”

A quick squeeze of both Marco’s hands, and Jean came with a shout, his head hitting the wall and his entire body convulsing. Marco had barely a second to thank God that the party was so loud, before grunting desperately in Jean’s ear when his own orgasm hit, and he couldn’t help pushing further into Jean’s body, pressing them firmly against the wall as shudders ripped through his body and his hand stroked them both dry.

It took a long, long time before either them could do anything but pant and lean against each other. When his senses and awareness finally returned, Marco found himself still clutching at Jean’s ass and holding their softening cocks together. With a happy sigh, he gently released him and slid his hands away, careful to keep the one covered in jizz away from their disarrayed clothing.

Jean wasn’t so quick to let go, but Marco didn’t mind waiting to him to come round. He took in the sharp, flushed features of his relaxed face, and let his eyes roam down his body, swallowing thickly at the mess on Jean’s stomach and the way his cock hung slightly to the side, still a little hard. Marco looked down at his own body, and jolted at the thick strings of come painting his collarbones and chest, dripping down slowly. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely recalled something landing on his chest before he came, but he’d been so caught up in his own orgasm, that it didn’t even occur to him that it’d be come.

He chuckled softly and could feel his cheeks heating up a little again, simultaneously impressed with Jean’s shot, and proud of himself from making him come like that. And a bit turned on too, if he was honest.

His laughing made Jean crack his eyes open, and Marco smiled at him, pointing to the mess on his chest with amusement.

“Nice shot.”

Jean’s eyes widened before he blushed and looked away with a mumbled apology.

“Don’t worry about it.” Marco laughed, catching a stray drip with his already gross hand before it could reach his jeans. “I’m kinda impressed actually. Thought shit like that only happened in porn. You pent up or something?”

Jean grunted as Marco glanced around silver tinted room for something to clean up with.

“You always this chatty when you come?”

Marco stuck his tongue out at him, in part because he actually didn’t know the answer to that, and smiled before walking over to the dresser and snatching a handful of tissues from the decorative box. He passed a bunch over to Jean, and they wiped themselves off in comfortable silence, the once forgotten thumping of the party below preventing any awkwardness from settling.

Despite being the messier one, Marco finished up first and threw his tissues in the tiny bin by the door, before bending down and picking up both their shirts. As he slipped his on, Jean finished cleaning up, and accepted his shirt with a quiet “thanks” without looking back up at Marco.

Once they were fully clothed, and straightened out, Marco tipped Jean’s chin up with a smile and placed a quick kiss on his lips, pulling away and grasping the door handle before a sharp tug on his t-shirt made him look back to Jean.

“Marco,” his voice cracked a little, and Marco could see the panic and desperation in his face even though Jean tried so hard to hide it.

“It’s ok Jean.” He said quietly, smiling sympathetically and gently squeezing the hand clasping his tee. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Jean’s eyes widened but dropped away quickly. His hand took longer, and Marco began to wonder if he’d forgotten it was there before he finally uncurled his stiff fingers and let his arm fall to his side. Marco didn’t know why he was expecting a ‘thank you’ or something, because their previous encounters sure didn’t suggest that Jean was the type, and it wasn’t like keeping quiet about other people’s affairs was something Marco needed gratitude for, but there was a tension that suggested some kind of recognition was needed. When Jean stayed quiet, Marco shrugged and simply asked where the bathroom was – tissues were never going to be enough to get the sticky residue off his hand, and he didn’t think walking around like that was proper party etiquette.

“Door opposite.” Was all Jean said, acknowledging him as little as possible in typical Jean fashion.

Marco thanked him with a smile anyway, and called a quiet ‘see you around’ as he stepped out the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

“So, wha’d I miss at Eren’s party?” Their desk was surprisingly _not_ crowded for once, and Marco took a quick glance around the room to see where the rest of their friends were as he threw his bag down and slid onto his stool.

Nac and Mylius were sitting at the back, quietly arguing over a piece of paper between them. Mina was texting by the windows, looking a little love struck to Marco, and Thomas was absent entirely. He wondered briefly if this was some kind of omen.

“Not much.” Connie answered for both of them as he too, carelessly dropped his bag, and then himself into his seat.

“Really? Who went?” Sasha continued to ask, bopping Marco on the nose with her pen in some kind of greeting.

“Well,” he chuckled. “There was loads of people there-”

“Like, from different schools and stuff.” Connie added.

“But of our friends, only Connie, Reiner, and I went.” He dug his book out and plopped it on the desk.

“Was it any good?” Connie shrugged.

“Meh. Nothing special. Not as good as Christa’s, but probably better than Ymir’s.”

Sasha looked to him for confirmation, but it wasn’t like Marco could argue. He couldn’t tell them that, although he couldn’t say much for the _actual_ party, that night had been the best he’d had in ages, and therefore made it the best party he’d been to in months. So he settled for, “It was noisy” with grimaced shrug.

“It was super noisy! I swear that kid’s turned up to eleven the entire fucking time.”

“You’re one to talk.” Marco scoffed, and laughed when he got a stuck out tongue in response.

“Lame.” Sasha stated. “Did you guys pull?”

“Nah. Marco did though.” He turned to Connie with a well practiced frown. “Dude, you were gone, like, the _whole_ night. There’s no way you didn’t get some action.”

Marco rolled his eyes as Sasha ‘ooh’-ed and asked for details, but it was dropped soon enough when they realised he wasn’t going to say anything that wasn’t a firm denial, and instead went on to discuss who they thought Mina was texting.

Marco was just about to offer what gossip he’d heard, when he noticed the door open and Jean walk in. He felt silly for the way his heartbeat picked up, but he still smiled at Jean and waited for him to look up. Except he didn’t. He kept his head down, as usual, and didn’t even glance Marco’s way after he sat at his desk. He didn’t look upset, but he sure as hell didn’t look like he’d had a pretty intense orgasm recently; he just looked… himself, Marco supposed. Disinterested. Ready for the day to end even though it hadn’t even begun.

Marco sighed, more at his feeling of disappointment than at the lack of recognition from Jean. It was stupid really, because it wasn’t like they’d ever interacted in class before. A little heart-to-heart or cock-to-cock wasn’t going to change that, and Marco hadn’t expected it to. But still, ridiculously, there was that touch of disappointment.

_Oh well. Thursday should be interesting._

* * *

That Thursday had not been interesting.

Neither had the one after it.

In fact, they’d both been exceptionally more boring than usual, because there had been no quick glances, or long stretches, or teasing glimpses of skin, or _anything_ from Jean.

And Marco hadn’t realised how used to those things he’d become; hadn’t realised he’d fully expected one, if not all of the above, and had been treated to nothing but The Usual circa 4 months ago.

At least Jean still wore those red shorts and fitted white t-shirt. The only proof that Marco hadn’t imagined the whole thing from sheer – fatal – boredom.

“I’m not being the DD this time guys. You _think_ the end of Christa’s was bad, but you don’t know what it was like having to deal with all that sick and idiocy without alcohol to numb the experience.”

Marco kind of knew that it shouldn’t have bothered him. He felt like he should have expected it and not cared.

“I said I was sorry Thomas!”

“I wasn’t having a go Sash, I just _really_ don’t want to have to deal with that again.”

And he didn’t care. Not really. Maybe a bit disappointed. Jean was hot and flirting was fun; it would have been nice to have kind of reciprocated once he’d finally figured out that that was what Jean was doing.

“Well I’m not doing it, I had to do it last time. Isn’t it Sasha’s turn anyway?”

At least, that was what Marco _thought_ the whole Phys Ed thing had been about. If he was honest, he still didn’t quite get it, because ‘flirting’ and ‘Jean’ didn’t really go together, and the whole experience felt a bit _passive-aggressive_ to be the care-free fun that was Marco’s previous encounters of flirting.

“What?! But I didn’t get to go to the last party! I want to have fun tomorrow!”

_“None_ of us went to the last party, which is why _Reiner_ should still be in the pool.”

And Jean didn’t seem too bothered with Marco. He was there, sort of hot, and _safe,_ so Jean took what he could get. So whilst flirting _sounded_ like more effort than Jean usually put into anything, really it was just circumstantial, and Jean was probably just as bored as Marco was by this point in the year.

“Hey, you all know what Connie’s like when he mixes! And Marco was zero help, floating on his gay, post-make-out cloud.”

“Maybe Marco should drive then. Pay his dues.”

So yeah, without any other options coming to mind, Marco figured that weirdness was half-assed, novice flirting. And now it was over before he could have joined the fun.

“Yeah! Let’s get Marco to do it!”

He understood why. Jean wasn’t interested in _him_ so much as the idea, and now he knew what it was like, maybe he didn’t feel the need to act on it anymore. Or there was some else he actually liked. Maybe the whole the thing had been a result of years of frustration and tension, and now that he’d had that relief, he didn’t need to keep pursuing it.

“You ok with that buddy? You don’t mind taking your old pals home, right?”

Marco didn’t mind, whatever the reason. But it could’ve been fun.

“Marco?”

Although, how much flirting he could he have actually done in Mr. Ackerman’s class anyway?

“If you’re happy to be the designated driver tomorrow, and agree to take us all home, stay silent.”

God, he would have killed him if he’d caught Marco trying to flirt through a window and ten or so meters of space.

“I think that was a resounding yes, don’t you guys?”

“Yep!”

Really, he and Sasha had been seriously lucky they’d not been caught ogling and daydreaming in his class yet. But then again, it was a skill they’d been perfecting for years.

“Thanks Marco!”

Marco turned away from the window to see all his friends staring at him, shit-eating grins and smirks on every one of their faces.

Something had happened.

Something had happened, and Marco had fucked up.

“W-what?”

“You, kind buddy, just nominated yourself to be tomorrow’s DD!”

“Technically, Mylius nominated you and you gracefully accepted. You’re a man amongst men, Marco.”

“Wait, wait.” Marco shook both his head and his hands, trying to clear some of the wistful fog that clogged up his mind. “What’s happening tomorrow? And when did I agree?”

All seven of them sitting along the lunch table gave him a blank stare. Apparently he’d been checked out for quite some time.

“You’re definitely the DD now. Didn’t even bother listening to our exciting news, how rude.”

“The person Mina’s been texting with is Marlow.” Bert opposite him thankfully spoke up, ignoring Mylius’ teasing. Half teasing. He looked kind of put out actually.

“Who’s Marlow?”

“You know that weirdo-“ Mina interrupted Sasha with an offended _Hey!_ “with the bowl cut in Thursday’s Phys Ed? When we have Calc.?”

Marco nodded, knowing him instantly, and the knowledge that Jean spoke to him a lot was just as immediate to cross his mind.

“Well, his parents are having, like, a mini honeymoon or whatever this weekend, and his step-sister- ”

“Y’know Hitch?” Connie interrupted. “Crazy, vain girl in our History class? Short wavy hair and green eyes.”

“She’s his _sister?”_

“ _Step_ -sister.” Sasha continued. “She’s decided to throw this huge party at their house, and Marlow invited Mina - and that naturally means us too - because he’s sweet on her and he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown from all the stress of _Hitch and her shenanigans_!” Sasha shook her fist in the air to complete her old man impression, but the way everyone but a violently blushing Mina laughed, suggested that it was genuine quote from Bowl Cut himself.

“So, you guys want me to drive tomorrow?”

“Yeah, well-“

“I don’t mind.” Marco added, cutting Nac off and pushing his suspiciously empty plate away from himself. “It’s been a while since I last did it, so it’s probably my turn.” He wasn’t really in the mood for drinking anyway.

“You sure?” Mina asked.

“Mhm.”

“That’s really all you have to say?” He looked at Mylius, and then around the table, before stopping on the small girl at the end.

“You have a really unfortunate taste in men Mina.”

“Hey!” Everyone laughed as the bell rang, and started picking up their trays.

* * *

The party had looked like it had been in complete chaos for a while when Marco and his friends had turned up. God knows what had been smashed all over the floor, and there had been so many people, so _gone_ that the place had looked like the origin of a zombie apocalypse, large groups of bodies stumbling and murmuring incoherent, drunken slurs.

Mina had ran in, searching for Marlow straight way, whilst everyone else headed straight for the drink, Marco grabbing a soda as the others had poured the various, more exciting alcoholic options down their eager throats.

Marco had never needed alcohol to enjoy himself, but this party had had the kind of rowdy atmosphere that quickly got grating when you head a clear mind, so he had lingered around the edges, pretending he wasn’t keeping an eye out for a purposefully messy undercut, and pretty, bored eyes.

He’d always been a terrible liar, even when he was only trying to fool himself.

It had crossed his mind yesterday, soon after he had found out about the party, that Jean would probably go, and he may be in the mood to hook-up again; make-out a bit if nothing else, maybe. He had scolded himself for the thought immediately, and had done so again when he caught himself looking out for him with an unwarranted feeling of excitement at the possibility.

It had been hard to stop himself from doing it though, when all he had had for distraction was an unappealing can of coke and people repeating the same thing to him five times every time he had tried to talk to someone. But something had to have worked at some point, because it had been Jean who had found him again.

Well, they had both stepped into the hallway at the same time, but Jean had already been looking at Marco when he’d spotted him.

All Marco had managed was an embarrassingly breathy _Hey,_ and an excited smile, before Jean had looked him up and down, stared at him for a full, awkward minute, and then had snatched his hand and pulled him down another empty corridor, and into another empty, small, dark room. He had given a cursory glance over the shoulder at some point to check if Marco was ok with the idea, but Marco could only imagine that he’d looked like an eager puppy, ready to be played with.

There had only been the briefest moment of doubt, when he’d been pulled up against Jean and had practically tasted the cheep beer on his breath. Marco was stone cold sober, and Jean had had a good deal to drink, but he hadn’t seemed _drunk._ Marco had hesitated for a moment, but this was the third time Jean had done this, and the last time he’d been just as sober as Marco was now. So with little reservation, Marco had melted into Jean when he’d tugged him closer, and had lost himself in his touch.

Their kisses were slow and Marco’s arms were wrapped around his waist, simply holding him. Jean’s arms looped around his neck were equally relaxed, and they gently leant into each other in a leisurely make-out that was nice and just as rewarding as their previous frantic and heated meetings. Marco’s stresses weren’t given an outlet, a quick release, but they were brushed of his shoulders with every soft nip and swipe of tongue, and he enjoyed it just as much as he enjoyed any meeting of bodies.

Their lips separated more often, dropping loose pecks amongst the deep curling of tongues. It allowed hot breaths to ghost over tender lips, and it let Jean speak. The only time he really did with Marco.

“You ever asked someone out?” he mumbled, eyes lidded and not missing a beat as their lips pressed together again.

“No.” Marco lead with a swipe of his tongue this time, and was welcomed to delve deeper again. When he eventually pulled back, it was with a gentle suck to Jean’s thin upper lip.

“Ever been asked out?” he dropped a kiss on the corner of Jean’s mouth just for the sake of it, and the spontaneity seemed to infect Jean too, because he leant forward brushed his teeth over Marco’s bottom lip before he kissed it sloppily.

“Yeah.” He pushed back into him and sighed contentedly through his nose as they kissed with a lingering press.

“If Farlan,” another press. “Asked you out,” a soft _smooch_ as their lips separated again. “Would you say yes?” Marco hummed as they joined together again, Jean’s fingers running gently through his hair.

“You ask a lot about Farlan.” He said against Jean’s eager mouth, before, for the first time, he pulled more than a breath away from him and smiled teasingly. “You got a thing for him? Did Sasha and I _corrupt_ you.”

“No,” he scoffed, but his cheeks were so red that it was hard to find any worth in his serious face. “Just wondering. You seemed to like him, so…” he trailed off with a shrug, tugging on Marco’s shirt to bring him closer again.

“Hm.” Jean’s tongue swiped against his lip one, twice, before slipping in and teasingly flicked across the roof of Marco’s mouth, receding again with a gentle suck. “I dunno.” Marco eventually answered, nipping at Jean’s red lips. “Don’t really want a relationship.”

“I know.” Jean whispered, eyes sliding shut and bringing them together again in a deep kiss. Marco’s arms twitched around his waist, and Jean’s fingers clenched in his hair.

It should have hit him then. Should have hit him before, actually. Days, weeks, maybe even _months_ ago. But it hadn’t, and it didn’t. It didn’t occur to him until he was sitting in the car, still smiling from his friends compulsory teasing of his bruised mouth, and barely listening to their loud chatter and laughter as he drove them home, thinking about how he could still feel Jean’s touch, his lips on his own, and how could still hear his moaning and shuddered breath.

_“I know.”_

And then it hit him like a car, every moment and memory flashing before his eyes before there was the building light of realisation.

_Jean walking directly to him at Ymir’s party, and grabbing him with determined, but shaking hands._

_Meeting his eyes, and trying to look calm and disinterested, still so aggressively guarded._

_“Oh my God, it’s Farlan!” ,“Is that your boyfriend or something?”, “Marco wishes!”_

_Jean spending an hour at Christa’s, glaring at Farlan playing Beer Pong._

_“Do you think you’re the first straight guy to come to me? ‘Cause you’re not. You won’t be the last either.”_

_“‘Suppose this is your big chance, huh? Guess it’ll be a piece of cake. What, with all your_ experience.”

_“I’d definitely swap my seat in Thursday’s Calculus for one right here.”_

_Jean’s eyes trailing along the window until he meets Marco eyes._

_“There’s something to be said for watching someone get hot and sweaty. All those muscles straining, and those short shorts…”_

_Wearing tighter clothing, stretching for longer and further._

_“I couldn’t give less of shit about you Jean… I still wouldn’t say anything about you because there’s nothing worth talking about… there’s a hundred pieces of shit like you…”_

_“It’s ok Jean. I’m not going to tell anyone.”_

_Jean flinching as Marco calls, “And you want_ me?!”

_“You_ know _I don’t like her.”_  
 _“You ask a lot about Farlan.”, “You seemed to like him, so…”_

_“I’m sorry…I didn’ mean it…I’was just…”_

_“Just don’t laugh, yeah?”_

_Trembling fingers trying to pull Marco as close as possible and touch every inch of him._

_“I know.”_

Jean liked him. Jean liked him a whole fucking lot, and probably had since before Ymir’s party. Jean liked him and thought Marco didn’t care; thought Marco liked Farlan more.

Jean liked him and had tried flirting with him, tried to get his attention, had _come out_ to him.

Jean liked him, and Marco really should have fucking noticed. Shouldn’t have let him keep shaking. Shouldn’t have let him think he still had to keep part of himself secret. He should’ve turned around and gone back to that party. He should’ve talked to him about it.

He _needed_ to talk to him about it.

“Sash!” he called, very carefully shifting in his seat to take his phone out of his jeans as he drove. Once Sasha stopped talking to Mina behind her, she faced him and just managed to catch the phone he threw at her. “Can you call Armin for me and put him on speaker?”

She shrugged, taking too long in her drunken haze to find the top contact in his phone. As it rang, she placed it into the holder at the front of his car and turned back around to resume talking with Mina.

It rang for a long time, and just as Marco worried that it was going to go to voicemail, a haggard sounding Armin picked up.

“Marco? What’re you doing calling? Everything ok?” Marco could hear loud, out of tune singing in the background, but he paid it no mind. He had more important things to worry about.

“Yeah. Are you with Jean?”

“Jean? No, he’s probably home by now. We split ways a while back. Why?” Marco sighed and briefly panicked about how he was going to do this without sounding like a suspicious creep. As far he knew, Jean hadn’t told anyone else he was gay, and Marco didn’t want Armin or anyone else in the car getting the wrong – or right – idea about what he was doing.

“I, er,” he paused and was careful to slow down as he spoke to Armin. “I just realised I found something of his. At the party. Do you think you could give me his number? So I can tell him in case he’s panicking or something?”

“Oh! Well, I can let him know if you like? He-”

“No! No, I don’t mind calling him. And he might, like, wanna pick it up over the weekend or something?” There was a loud shout of Eren! on Armin’s end, and it was thankfully distracting enough to stop Armin from questioning Marco’s oddness.

“Oh, sure! I’ll text it to you. Sorry Marco, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you Monday!”

“Yeah, thanks Armin! Have a good weekend!” Marco leant forward to end the call, and sighed in relief when not a second later, he got a text notification. Well, at least he got that far. Now all he needed to do was drop all of the gossipers in his car off, figure out what the hell to say, and then find the balls to actually call.

“Heeey~” Sasha sang, edging towards him and making her fingers walk up his arm in mischief. “What have you got of Cherry Sours’? Is it interesting? Is it blackmail-able?”

Marco couldn’t help but chuckle, though he still pushed Sasha away gently. “No,” he said firmly. “And put your seatbelt back on. If I get higher premiums on my insurance, I’m making you pay, regardless of whether you’re still alive.”

“Booooring!” He didn’t know whether that was in response to the seatbelt or lack of juicy gossip, but either way she buckled up and dropped the subject, and that’s all Marco wanted.

* * *

Once he finally managed to get Thomas into his house, he started to drive back to his own home in blessed silence. It was nearing two-thirty in the morning, and the streets were practically empty. Even though it was late and Jean would probably be asleep, Marco still pulled over on a quiet back road and killed the engine. It could wait until tomorrow. Probably should. But Marco felt bad enough that it had taken him this long, that he wanted to get it done with as soon as possible.

He grabbed his phone and stared at Armin’s text for a while. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he was going to say, or what he was supposed to say at all. But in the end, Marco decided that with Jean, it was probably best to speak honestly and in the moment, even if Marco ended up sounding like an idiot. Jean was a pretty straight forward guy – when he wasn’t trying to flirt, that was – and was quick to get defensive and paranoid, with good reason, Marco supposed. So beating around the bush, or planned speeches weren’t going to sit well with him. The best thing to do would be to ring and wing it.

So he did.

And it rang.

And he got voicemail. He didn’t know whether that was better or worse, but he didn’t have a lot of time to think about it before the beep sounded harshly.

“Uh, hey Jean. It’s Marco. Marco Bodt. Obviously. Well, maybe not obviously. I mean, I don’t know how many Marcos you know! Could be loads, haha!” Marco physically cringed, and tried to talk through the way it made his teeth clench. “A-anyway, I got your number from Armin. I hope you don’t mind, but I, I wanted to call you.”

He took a deep breath.

“I um, I was on my way home- well, taking everyone else home, and I realised… I kinda realised you had feelings for me. _Have_ feelings for me. Like a crush or whatever. B-but you know that, so I don’t have to explain it, haha. Um, I guess I’m just calling to say sorry. For not realising before. ‘Cause looking back, I really should have, y’know? And I think maybe you’ve got some wires crossed, and if I’d noticed before, then maybe you wouldn’t have got so tangled up…o-or something! So um, yeah. I just want to clear some things up?”

Another, deeper, calming breath.

“I don’t like Farlan. I mean, I think he’s hot, and he’s a good guy and stuff, but I don’t want to go out with him. Sasha was wrong about that. I guess, if I could’ve like, picked anyone in the school to go out with, then yeah, it’d been him. But I don’t have a crush or anything. Do you… do you ever just like someone ‘cause you’re bored? And they’re pretty? And you never see them, so when you do it’s exciting? That’s, that’s how I felt about Farlan. And even then, you weren’t in competition with him. I wasn’t… I never compared you, y’know. It wasn’t like, ‘oh Jean’s hot, but I wish’, it was just ‘Jean’s hot’. …Well, occasionally it was ‘Jean’s hot, but he’s kind of a dick’, but I never thought of Farlan when I was with you. It never even occurred to me. So don’t, don’t think like that. Don’t compare yourself to him, or put yourself down, or whatever it is you do when ask about him. You’re fine the way you are Jean. Like, I don’t know you that well, but you’re good looking, and you can be sweet, and you kick ass at soccer!”

Marco chuckled quietly, relaxing a little after getting used to talking to silence for approximately 10 hours.

“And I guess you think that I don’t care, about how you feel or-or about you. ‘Cause I fool around a lot I guess. And because of what I said by my locker. I mean, what I said was kinda harsh, but you sort of deserved it, and honestly… I meant it. At the time, I meant all of it, because it was true. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care now, that I don’t like you-”

The line suddenly cut, and Marco cursed, a blush rising to his cheeks as he called again and prayed Jean wouldn’t pick up this time. Every ring made his blood pump faster, but when the automated voice was the only one that greeted him, Marco let out a heavy breath and tried to calm down again.

“H-hey,” he said after the beep. “It’s Marco again. Sorry, I-I got cut off, but there’s still some things I wanna say…”

Marco sighed, and tried to remember where he left off.

“Having been with other guys doesn’t affect how much I care about you Jean. It doesn’t change how attracted I am to you. It doesn’t dictate how I want to be with you. And I do care. I care that you think I’m attractive. I care that you’re coming to terms with yourself. I care that you have feelings for me. I… I don’t have feelings for you, not strong ones. But I like you, and I don’t mind if you have a crush. I’m kinda flattered actually. Really flattered. So don’t… don’t worry about that, yeah? I’m not going to treat you differently, or act weird around y-well, I guess we’ve always been a bit weird around each other, but y’know what I mean. And I won’t tell anyone. Not because I’m ashamed or because it’s not important; but because it’s not my place. That’s your decision. So… I guess that’s it. Just, sorry for not picking up on it sooner, and probably making things ten times harder than it had to be.”

Marco swallowed and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“You, you’ve got my number now, if you wanna call back or whatever. Talk to me, or tell me off or something. I guess if I don’t hear from you, I should… act like before? Like, ignore it and stuff? But I’m here, if you wanna chat, or if I can help with anything. I don’t mind. So, yeah. I guess I’ll leave you in peace. Sorry for all the messages!... Bye, Jean.”

He finally ended the call for good and slumped in his seat for a good ten minutes. He probably messed that up, and he knew he sounded like an idiot. But it felt good to get some things off his chest; to hopefully clear some of the air.

He eventually started the car again and made his way home. He still felt nervous, but also better now that those odd, odd months made sense. And hopefully Jean would feel better once he heard those messages. Maybe he’d call back and they could finally sort everything out.

* * *

Jean didn’t call.

Marco had been glued to his phone all weekend, and spent most of Saturday rolling on his bed in embarrassment and regret, more and more sure he’d made a mistake with every hour that went by and Jean never responded.

Those hours turned into days, and by the time Monday morning came, Marco figured Jean just wanted to pretend nothing had happened. Probably wanted to forget they’d ever met in the first place. Marco tried to imagine what it’d be like to have his crush ring him and tell him he knew about all his feelings, and it made him want to kick himself. Of course Jean wasn’t going to reply to that. What kind of idiot thought that was a good idea?

So Marco turned up to double Chemistry trying to steal himself for the moment they eventually saw each other. They were already pretty good at acting like the other wasn’t around, so it shouldn’t be too hard. But there was still a nervousness fizzing through his body, so he sat down at his desk and immersed himself in the inane chatter of his friends, forcing himself to not look at the door every time is squeaked open.

If there was one thing his friends were good for, it was being distracting. Noisy and animated as ever, it became surprisingly easy to lose himself in the speculation about Bert hitting on the scary exchange student at the party. So easy in fact, that he _had_ completely forgot about watching the door, and had it not been for Sasha looking confused at his side, Marco probably wouldn’t have noticed anyone walk towards him.

He turned round to see Jean come to a stop at their desk, looking down at Marco neutrally.

Marco didn’t want to think what his own face looked like. Probably shocked and a little sick, with a touch of dopey. He gulped.

“Hey.” Jean said, and finally his nervousness began to come through as he diverted his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Hi,” Marco breathed. An uncomfortable silence followed, so he continued. “Did you-”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, and Marco thought he’d could see a faint blush appearing. “Yeah, I did. Thanks.”

Marco smiled, but before he could say anything else, Jean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his may-or-may-not-be blush turned a dark red, and he met Marco’s eyes determinedly, even if he was visibly shaking.

“Will you got out with me?”

Marco felt his jaw drop amongst his friends’ startled and disbelieving reactions. He paid them no mind, simply stared at Jean in shock and watched as his blush travelled the tops of his ears and – _Jesus!_ – down his neck.

“I-I mean!” Jean continued, getting redder and redder, and more and more awkward. “Do y-you _want_ to-”

“Yes.” Marco hadn’t even been aware he’d said it at first, but the dumbfounded look on Jean’s face, and the silence around them told him he must have said something. “Yeah,” he repeated with a smile. “I’d like that.”

And he meant it. He didn’t see this coming, and he hadn’t really put any thought into actually _dating_ Jean, but now that he’d been asked, he realised that he’d really, _really_ like that. So-

_Why was he scowling again?!_

“You don’t have to say yes.” Jean argued. “I didn’t ask you in front of everyone to make you say yes. I asked in front of them because, because I’m _trying.”_

“I know.” Marco interrupted before Jean could say anything else. He smiled up at him and watched the tension slowly easy from his body. He reached forward and lightly gripped the hand hanging by Jean’s side. “And I’d like to try too.”

His friends started excitedly talking around him again, which spurred the whole class back into noise, but Marco ignored them all as he gently rubbed his thumb along the back of Jean’s hand. He gazed up at him, and for the very first time, saw Jean _really_ smile, a wide and easy stretch of lips that made his eyes crinkle and cheeks rosier. Marco could barely breath.

With a giddy smile of his own, Marco stood on the bar of his stool and leant over the desk between them. Keeping his hand clasped loosely with Jean’s, he closed the gap between them and kissed him softly, lingering close when he pulled back and took in the happiness Jean was exuding. He pecked his lips again and looked into his eyes as he whispered,

“You’re really cute when you’re crushing.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much if you've made it this far! You are a true warrior!!
> 
> Despite the content (I really don't know how it came to be nearly 30k words!), this story actually means a lot to me, because it's the first thing I've written in months, the first thing I've completed in years, and I genuinely can't remember the last time I shared my writing with anyone.  
> So feedback and concrit would very much appreciated as I try to get back into the swing of writing and storytelling.  
> Thank you again for reading!


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